Against Their Will
by elbcw
Summary: An angry noble wants revenge, and he intends to use the Musketeers to help him get that revenge.
1. Chapter 1

Authors note: My customary five minutes of research has led me to the conclusion that the science is not fit for the purpose of the story. So it is just that, a story, using a dollop of my poetic licence.

I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One

Perrault smiled; the two men were very good. If they had both been fit the match would have been perfect, but beggars could not be choosers. Although mused the noble, he was no beggar. His well-paid men had done a good job and would be rewarded. He knew that to keep their loyalty cost money. And Perrault was only too happy to pay if he was able to continue to enjoy his revenge quite as much as he was.

The older swordsman looked angry; it was clear he was torn with his own loyalty. The threat to one of his friends causing him to fight another. The soldier seemed to be able to read the moves of the younger man, he parried with ease and landed bruising hard strokes of his sword, clashing hard with the other man's weapon.

The younger man, d'Artagnan, he was excellent, but his injury was marring his performance. His moves were a little slower than perhaps they should have been. D'Artagnan was stealing the odd glance towards their friend. The distraction perhaps too much for him. Perrault wondered if he had done the right thing with his earlier demonstration of power. The older soldier had been forced to stop d'Artagnan moving forward during the demonstration. But it was done now, and the fight was still entertaining.

Perrault wondered how much longer the two men would last. They could not fight indefinitely but he would know if one of them pretended to collapse. It would be d'Artagnan, Perrault was sure of that. The younger man was now sporting two additional injuries, a cut across his right bicep from early in the fight and a more recent slice to his left side. Neither appeared to be bleeding badly, but they must have been affecting him.

D'Artagnan glanced at their friend again. The man Perrault had used to encourage the two swordsmen to fight was obviously struggling to remain still. The noose was perhaps a little tight around his neck, the stool they had stood him on a little too rickety. The man was following the action but had obviously wavered a few times. Perrault thought it would be a shame if the man caused a distraction by falling off the rickety stool. It would make both the fighting Musketeers stop and Perrault did not want that. He wanted one of them to collapse, he did not want them to have a break, even if that was for them to plead for their friend's life.

Of course, he still had the other Musketeer to use, the one he was looking forward to seeing in a fist fight. But Perrault did not want to use all his cards too soon. He wanted to enjoy toying with the men.

The older swordsman managed to twist his main gauche around d'Artagnan's sword and stepped in closer to him, the two tired men paused for a second before d'Artagnan managed to push his comrade away. But it was obvious he would not last any longer, he was panting, he stumbled back a couple of paces and seemed to simply fold up, he ended up in an undignified heap on the ground.

Perrault smiled; he was enjoying his revenge. And he was only just beginning to have his fun.

MMMM

Earlier…

Porthos took a deep breath. The sweet scent in the air pleased him. He loved being in the city with its noise and people, but the calm and freshness of the French countryside was also welcome. And if he could enjoy it with his best friends when they were merely ambling their way back to Paris, all the better.

They had been escorting a couple of noble birth back to their own lands at the King's request. The Comte had received a few threats and had visited the King to ask for assistance, which was given. The matter dealt with, the King had deemed it necessary for the noble, who he obviously wanted to keep on his good side, and the man's wife to be accompanied home. The job done, with no interference, the Musketeers were enjoying the return journey.

Porthos estimated they would reach Paris in time to get to the tavern for a meal and possibly a game of cards. Until they reached the edge of the city, they could continue to enjoy the countryside.

He glanced at his brothers. Aramis and d'Artagnan were a few yards ahead deep in conversation. Aramis had chuckled several times and even earned himself a friendly slap from d'Artagnan at one point. Athos was lost in quiet contemplation about...something. Porthos saw no reason to disturb him.

Instead, he looked around, taking in the trees and flowers. Several areas of the wood, where the trees thinned slightly were carpeted with small blue flowers. He wondered if they were the source of the pleasant smell. It had rained a few hours before leaving the leaves on the trees with an extra sheen.

The road they were travelling along was well maintained, but quiet. The ground sloped off quite sharply a couple of yards to their left, but the wide road meant there was little danger to them.

Porthos looked along the road when he heard a horse being urged forward. Aramis had pushed his mare into a trot. Further along the road, Porthos could see the reason for his brothers need for haste. A man, obviously injured, had stumbled into the road.

Aramis was off his mare before she had fully come to a standstill. He approached the man and grabbed him as he swayed, apparently close to collapse.

As Porthos reached Aramis and the man he heard their conversation.

'...my wife...she's dead, monsieur…'

Aramis shifted slightly as the man wilted. D'Artagnan had reached him and slipped his arm around the man's waist offering him more support. Porthos could see Aramis looking the man over as he related what the man had said.

'Their cart went over the edge,' said Aramis, vaguely pointing to the left, 'he said his wife was pinned underneath. The horses were spooked.'

Porthos dismounted and walked past the man who was composing himself slightly. With Athos at his side, Porthos could see where the cart the man had been travelling in had gone over the edge of the road.

'The ground is soft after the rain,' observed Athos, 'they must have had some momentum to end up down there. Or the horses sped up when they were spooked.'

Athos pointed forward, following the furrows in the ground caused by the cart's wheels. Ahead of them, they could make out the cart, lying on its side. Two horses were wandering a few yards from it, their tac still in place, the reins trailing along the ground.

'I think he's only bruised and shocked,' said Aramis, from behind them. 'I want to check on the wife.'

'Of course,' said Athos with a nod, leading them forward.

Porthos followed behind, he knew their own horses would not wander far. Aramis and d'Artagnan walked with the man, d'Artagnan still had his arm around the man's waist, keeping him steady.

All pleasant appreciations of the area had disappeared from Porthos' mind. He never really stopped being a soldier, never really completely let his guard down, but for the few minutes before coming across the unfortunate incident, Porthos had been enjoying the surroundings. Now he was not. Now he was on full alert.

What had spooked the horses?

There was something else niggling at the back of his mind, something else that was out of place, but he could not put his finger on what it was. He started to scan the area, but nothing seemed wrong, other than the upturned cart.

Aramis had left the man in d'Artagnan's capable hands and moved to kneel at the side of the woman lying pinned under the cart. She was probably in her forties, although the hard toil of a farming life might have aged her prematurely. It was obvious she was dead, her sightless eyes staring up at the blue sky above. Aramis was about to cross himself when he paused. He reached forward and pushed the fabric of her dress a few inches down over her shoulder, the wound that was revealed had clearly not been caused in the crash. The woman had been stabbed in the chest above her left breast, a no doubt fatal injury.

Aramis looked up, towards the man who had stopped them, the question obvious on his face. Before Porthos turned back towards the man he saw the expression on Aramis' face turn to one of shock. A thump and a gasp caused Porthos to quickly turn in time to see d'Artagnan crumple to the ground. The man, who was not really injured, had struck their brother with a stout stick he must have had hidden in his tatty doublet.

Porthos reached for his gun, at the same time as Athos. They both levelled the weapons at the man who simply grinned at them and indicated for them to look behind them. Porthos looked around and realised why the man was not in the slightest bit bothered to have two armed soldiers aiming guns at him.

The wooded area was alive with men, all armed, all aiming their own guns at the four Musketeers.

'What is the meaning of this?' asked Athos, who was still looking at the man who had lured them from the road.

Another man approached from the right. He wore better clothes than the rest of the men, his were embroidered and of much better quality fabric. Porthos thought he recognised the man.

'The meaning, Musketeer,' said the man, 'is that you four are going to help me.'

'Help you?' said Aramis as he rose from where he had knelt beside the dead woman.

A couple of the men nearest to him took a few steps forward. It was clear to Porthos that the men knew what they were doing. They knew how much of a threat the well trained and disciplined Musketeers would be. Aramis spotted the men and not wishing to make the situation worse spread his hands to the sides palms out showing the men he was not holding a weapon.

'Yes, you four, are going to help me get my revenge on that pompous twit of a King.'

Athos had narrowed his eyes slightly as he regarded the man, 'Perrault,' he said.

The man smiled, 'you recognise me. Good. When you return to the King you will be able to tell him that he should not have wronged me.'

'We haven't got anything to do with what the King decides,' said Porthos, his gun still aimed at the man with the pretend injuries.

'I know, but he has denied me a better title. A title I deserve. Therefore, I shall be depriving him of some of his soldiers. You can be either dead or injured, it makes no difference to me. But you will not be working soldiers...perhaps you will recover. If you are not dead.'

'Harming us would be akin to harming the King,' pointed out Athos, 'it would be taken very seriously.'

'I won't be hurting you...I've more sense than that,' replied the man with a smirk.

Porthos wondered what Perrault meant as he eyed the rest of his men. The hired men looked as though they were being loyal to their paymaster. Perrault was wealthy enough that he could keep them on his side and most hired men were more than happy to see soldiers hurt or killed.

'You have already hurt our friend,' said Athos with a nod toward d'Artagnan who was still sprawled on the ground where he had fallen.

'I did not hurt him, that man did, and I cannot be held responsible for his actions.'

'He is in your employ,' said Athos.

'Is he?'

Porthos realised Perrault could deny luring them into his well thought out trap and get the other men to do his dirty work for him. He would be the one to have caused them harm but would not be responsible.

Perrault nodded toward a couple of his men who moved towards d'Artagnan. Athos followed them with his gun.

'I've already said that you don't have to be killed,' said Perrault, 'lower your weapons and he will not be hurt further...yet.'

'What are you planning to do?' asked Aramis, unable to hide his incredulity at the situation.

'You will see.'

Perrault turned away from them and began to walk into the wood.

One of the men near Aramis waved his gun to indicate that they should follow Perrault. Porthos watched the two men who had gone towards d'Artagnan hook their hands under his arms and pull him up, dragging him between them in the direction Perrault was walking. D'Artagnan was showing no signs of waking. Porthos wished they could check their brother was alright, he hoped they would get the opportunity before Perrault did anything else.

They were ushered further into the wood which thickened before they came to a clearing. The clearing showed evidence of preparation for something. The ground had been cleared of leaf litter and small plants. Porthos watched as several of the men took up position around the clearing, leaning on trees or settling themselves on the ground.

The Musketeers were walked out of the clearing on the far side. D'Artagnan was dragged towards a tree and manhandled to sit with his back to the trunk. Porthos could not watch further as he was approached by two men, one holding a gun pointed at his head. His weapons and weapons belts were taken from him, the man then searched him, checking his pockets and his boots for any concealed weapons. Porthos glanced at Athos and Aramis who were being given the same treatment before each of them were pushed against a different tree and forced to sit down before being tied to the tree with ropes around their wrists and waists. None of them were going to escape easily. D'Artagnan, despite being unconscious, had received the same treatment.

Athos had spent the entire time glaring at Perrault whilst Aramis had been watching d'Artagnan with concern.

'Let me check him,' asked Aramis as he was tied to the tree he had been pushed against.

Porthos thought his brother's request was fair and Aramis had managed to keep his tone even and polite as he asked. He had offered no resistance to the men as they were marched through the wood. Perrault obviously thought differently, he nodded to one of the men who had tied Aramis to the tree. The man, of large build, smirked, he twisted slightly before slapping Aramis hard across the face with the back of his hand. The strike was enough to force Aramis to the side, only remaining upright because he was tied to the tree. Porthos shouted at the man but it made no difference. Aramis managed to pull himself straight but was obviously stunned by the sudden assault. He was blinking and working his jaw. The mark left by the man was already showing on Aramis' face.

The large man, who had a pockmarked face, grinned at Aramis before stepping away out of sight of them.

'That was uncalled for,' said Porthos, unable to stop himself.

'I know, how callous of him,' said Perrault with another smirk.

Porthos watched Aramis scowl at Perrault before glancing at him and Athos and nodding that he was alright.

The pockmarked man returned carrying a bucket. Porthos watched as the man walked straight up to d'Artagnan who was sat slumped against the tree he had been tied to. His head was tipped forward. The pockmarked man stopped in front of the unconscious Musketeer, he glanced at Perrault who nodded. With a satisfied grin, the man poured the contents of the bucket over d'Artagnan. Porthos guessed the water was cold as the reaction from d'Artagnan was instant.

Breathing fast and looking very confused d'Artagnan sat up straight and tried to pull away from the assault. It took him several seconds to orientate himself, he pulled at the ropes and looked around, his gaze settling on his brothers.

As he settled his breathing d'Artagnan opened his mouth to speak, Porthos saw Athos shake his head. He did not want d'Artagnan to be on the receiving end of the pockmarked man's fist.

'So glad you could join us,' said Perrault before looking at them each in turn, 'I want you to understand that I have picked you four because you are the best of his Royal stupidnesses Musketeers. And I am, therefore, going to be depriving him of you. Probably not all of you, and possibly not permanently. But you will be suffering on his behalf. By hurting you I intend to hurt him. And I believe I am entitled to some entertainment along the way.'

None of them responded, there was nothing they could say, all they could do was speculate as to the disenchanted nobles plans for them. He moved to Athos and crouched down.

'You are supposed to be the best swordsman of the Musketeers, and I understand that d'Artagnan there is something of a protege of yours. How good are you against each other? I would like a demonstration.'

Athos glared at the man before responding, 'I would gladly give you a demonstration, how is your swordsmanship monsieur?'

Perrault grinned with a nod, 'oh, it will not be that easy, monsieur. You will be fighting him,' Perrault nodded towards d'Artagnan who was watching the exchange with confusion, 'And I will be ensuring that you and your friend there are fighting and not sparring.'

'And how do you propose to do that?'

'I can tell the difference between a duel and a sparring match. And you two are going to fight until one of you is dead or has collapsed from exhaustion...and I will be able to tell if you are pretending to be exhausted...I am not an imbecile-'

'Are you sure, monsieur?' asked Athos.

Porthos wondered if Athos was pushing his luck at that point, but Perrault again smirked before waving his hand in the direction of Aramis. Three of the thugs stepped forward. One grabbed Aramis around the shoulders as the other untied him. They hauled him to his feet, Aramis tried to pull away but the men held him firmly before trying to force him out of sight. When Aramis tried to pull away a second time he was slapped again by the pockmarked man. They could not see where Aramis was being taken but could hear movement a few yards behind them.

Perrault rose and wandered a few yards away from Athos, he peered through the trees towards the area Aramis had been taken to.

Athos made another effort to put a stop to the ridiculous farce, 'it would be an unfair fight, d'Artagnan is injured-'

'I don't care, he is supposed to be as good as you. Let's see him prove that. If you do not fight your friend will be hanged. It is as simple as that. If I believe you are not genuinely fighting, your friend will be hanged. If the fight does not conclude with one of you dead or convincingly collapsed, I will hang your friend.'

'You will hang him?' asked Athos, with the emphasis on 'you'.

Perrault paused for a second, he looked annoyed at being picked up on his words. Porthos hoped Perrault would not react violently.

'He will be hanged…' reiterated Perrault with a scowl.

Porthos tried to twist around to see the clearing behind them. He wondered what had happened to Aramis. The threat from Perrault was obviously real, he could not see them getting out of their current situation unscathed. He looked around for something, anything, that could help them.

The noble continued to look towards the clearing for a few more seconds before he seemed satisfied.

'Bring them,' he said with a glance towards the men that had gathered around the captured Musketeers.

Porthos could only watch as the men approached Athos and d'Artagnan. His brothers were untied and pulled up to stand. D'Artagnan was struggling, but he was trying to hide it, he had closed his eyes for a few seconds as he was roughly forced to walk forward. Athos looked worried, Porthos could guess his brother was trying to think of a way out of their current situation.

Porthos hoped Athos had more luck than he was at that moment.

MMMM


	2. Chapter 2

**Authors note: Thanks for the reviews, now you will see how good you were at guessing what happens next!**

Chapter Two

Athos glanced at d'Artagnan who was clearly suffering from the blow to the head. The pain was obvious, he had known d'Artagnan long enough to know when the younger man was hiding how much pain he was in. They all did it, sometimes the discomfort had to be pushed aside whilst they dealt with other things. But at that moment, faced with the prospect of putting on a convincing show for Perrault, Athos did not like the idea of d'Artagnan having to push himself.

Their situation was grim, they were being forced to perform for the disenchanted noble all so that he could feel he was getting revenge on the King. The King who would probably not really care too much if his Musketeers were hurt or killed.

The men, who had a firm grip on his arms, steered him back towards the clearing they had been walked through earlier. Athos now knew what it was for, it had been prepared for the entertainment that they were to provide. Perrault had planned ahead, Athos wondered how he had known about their mission, known they would be on that particular road.

His musing was interrupted as they were pushed into the centre of the clearing. Two swords and parrying daggers had been stabbed into the soft earth at the centre of the clearing, Athos could see they were their own weapons. They were both given a shove towards the swords.

Athos looked around, stopping when he saw something that made his blood run cold. He had to be quick to slip his hand around d'Artagnan's arm, to stop him moving forward.

'We cannot help him like that,' said Athos quietly, 'we have to do what this idiot wants…'

D'Artagnan nodded and remained where he was, his eyes firmly fixed on their brother.

Aramis was staring back at them; he could not hide the fear in his eyes. He had been forced to stand on a stool that had clearly seen better days. He was only a few inches from the ground, but Athos knew it would be enough. The noose around Aramis' neck would see that he would not reach solid ground. The rope, which had no slack in it had been pulled tight enough around his friend's neck that Aramis could not afford to move an inch without risking strangling himself. As it was Athos got the impression his friend was having to pull himself up to his full height to give himself enough room to breathe. His hands had been tied behind him, firmly enough to pull his shoulders back. The discomfort Aramis would have been in was only added to by a gag which could not have been helping with his breathing.

Perrault had moved to stand next to Aramis who could not even twist to look at their captor. The noble glanced up at Aramis before looking back at Athos and d'Artagnan with a smirk.

'I will have my entertainment as I get my revenge,' said Perrault. 'And to ensure you know I am serious, allow me to give you a practical demonstration.'

With no warning, the noble knocked the stool out from under Aramis causing him to drop a couple of inches until he was left dangling on the rope. The look of shock on Aramis' face would haunt Athos for a long time, he was sure. In the same instant two of Perrault's men stepped forward, guns drawn, aimed at the two captives.

'We'll do it,' yelled d'Artagnan who could not contain himself.

Aramis was struggling vainly at the end of the rope, Athos could hear his pitiful attempts to take a breath, his feet searching for purchase, the toes of his boots were only a couple of inches from the ground. Perrault waited a few more seconds before nodding. The two men closest to Aramis stepped forward. The pock-marked man grabbed Aramis around the waist. Athos was actually pleased it was the bigger man who grabbed his friend, he held Aramis' weight with ease, taking the pressure off his friend's neck, allowing him to breathe. The second man put the stool back on its feet and held it steady as Aramis managed to put his feet back on it. The pock-marked man remained where he was, his big hands on Aramis' waist, keeping him steady. Athos was glad, he doubted his friend would have been able to control his breathing and stop himself from falling again.

Aramis was breathing hard, the gag and his restrained arms impeding him. His reddened face gradually returned to its normal colour, but the look of shock and fear remained in his eyes.

'Entertain me, or I will not have the stool replaced next time.'

Perrault looked at Athos and d'Artagnan in turn. Athos glared at the noble for a few seconds before turning his back and moving to the centre of the clearing, d'Artagnan followed. They each grabbed their weapons. Athos took a few practice swings with his sword, all the time looking at Perrault, not even bothering to hide his contempt for the man. D'Artagnan had moved a few paces away. Athos was aware of him taking a few deep breaths and rocking on his feet a little. The soft ground was not ideal for a sword fight, but they had fought on worse surfaces. Athos knew he was going to have to take charge of the fight. D'Artagnan would struggle, the injury he had received had probably left him with a thumping headache.

They looked at each other and nodded their readiness. Athos raised his sword, watching d'Artagnan carefully as he did the same, a tell-tale shake to his hand telling Athos all he needed to know.

Athos made the first move, he wanted to control the fight, and he needed to know how quick d'Artagnan's reflexes were going to be. His brother was quick in stopping the initial swipe of the sword, but he was not as quick as he could be, and the return strike was slow by d'Artagnan's standards.

Holding back slightly, rather as he would with a cadet, Athos began to fight his brother. A plan to ease d'Artagnan's suffering and hopefully see Aramis released formed in Athos' mind. He sent up a silent prayer as he contemplated what he was going to have to do. Perrault would be expecting him to win over the already injured man, Athos would not disappoint him. What he had to do was make it a convincing win. If he were to simply disarm d'Artagnan, which Athos was fairly sure he could do at that moment, it would not be entertaining enough for Perrault.

Athos was going to have to hurt d'Artagnan.

D'Artagnan was fighting back, but his moves were slow. Although to the untrained eye his fighting would look exemplary, Athos could work out each move before d'Artagnan had started it. He was able to foil all the strikes with ease, he made a show of jumping out of the way of a couple of thrusts but on the whole, he was able to parry and attack without interference.

As d'Artagnan tired, he began to make small mistakes. Athos knew he would have to take advantage of his brother's injury in order to make his inevitable win look convincing. When d'Artagnan next moved his arm to the side, in order to swing his sword Athos was quicker, slicing his main gauche across d'Artagnan's right arm. The cut was deep enough to have an impact but would not be bad enough to leave d'Artagnan permanently injured. At least he hoped not.

D'Artagnan looked shocked at the move, a slight look of confused betrayal crossed his face. He stumbled back a couple of paces. Athos paused long enough for d'Artagnan to gather his wits. He was panting hard; his brow was furrowed as the headache clouded his judgement. With an unfocused look, d'Artagnan managed to make eye contact with him. Athos did not like the way d'Artagnan regarded him for a few seconds. It was almost as if his brother had forgotten what was going on. The look remained as d'Artagnan steadied himself, dropping his main gauche and swapping his sword to his left hand.

Athos took a second to glance at Aramis, who was watching the fight intently. His brother was still taking short breaths, Athos guessed the position Aramis had been forced to remain in had left him very tense and struggling to breathe and remain still.

Perrault was also intently watching the fight, but his expression was one of glee and amusement. Athos knew that given the chance and without the risk to the lives of his brothers he would have cheerfully run the man through there and then.

Athos did not give his brother any more time to prepare, he stepped in again, but d'Artagnan was ready, fending off the first strike. But the force in his return thrust was weak. Athos knew he would not last much longer. And d'Artagnan kept glancing at Aramis, which left him distracted. Athos needed to end the fight, but he still had to end it in such a way that Perrault would be entertained.

The fatigue was starting to affect him as well, Athos knew he would last longer than his injured brother, but he could not last indefinitely. And he knew Aramis would be struggling.

Athos took advantage, the next time d'Artagnan glanced away, he sliced his sword lightly across d'Artagnan's left side, cutting through his doublet. D'Artagnan's attention snapped back to him, his eyes wide with shock.

He allowed d'Artagnan to get closer to him and grab him. For a couple of seconds, they clung to each other, breathing hard, before d'Artagnan managed to push himself back.

But the injuries and the fatigue had finally caught him up. He stumbled back, tripping over his own feet and falling to the floor. He had not passed out but was very uncoordinated.

Now that d'Artagnan had finally fallen, Perrault walked forward, Athos glared at him as he dropped his sword and took the few steps to d'Artagnan's side. D'Artagnan was trying to pull himself up to sit, to stand, to continue the fight. But it was obvious to Athos that his brother was beyond exhausted, the pain etched on his face told him that if d'Artagnan tried to stand on his own he would pass out. He hoped Perrault believed that d'Artagnan really had collapsed, that he had not faked the fall to end the fight. The consequences if the deranged noble did not believe d'Artagnan had genuinely fallen were too great.

'You have fought well. He lasted longer than I thought he would,' said Perrault, with a glance at d'Artagnan who had given up trying to get back to his feet.

'Let Aramis go,' said Athos with a glance towards his friend who was watching them with concern.

Athos could see that Aramis was almost as exhausted as d'Artagnan, the shock of the brief hanging and then being forced to keep very still for as long as the fight had lasted had taken its toll.

'He will be released once you two have been restrained again. The quicker you allow that to happen, the quicker he will be restored to you.'

Athos narrowed his eyes at Perrault, 'what is your ultimate aim? You have caused harm to the King's Musketeers. D'Artagnan will not be fit for duty for a few days. Just let us go, leave us here, it is a long walk back to Paris…'

Perrault smirked again, 'I will decide when the King's' men have suffered enough, thank you.'

Perrault stepped back and swept his hand in the direction of the trees they had been tied to. Athos hooked his hand under d'Artagnan's right arm and eased him up to stand. D'Artagnan tried to walk on his own but could not. Athos was glad, he did not want d'Artagnan to hide how much he had been affected by the injuries. He hoped the fact that one of them was now injured would be enough for Perrault. But Athos doubted it.

They both looked at Aramis as they made their way back to where Porthos was still tied up. Aramis watched them go.

'Sorry,' said Athos quietly to d'Artagnan who just shook his head.

With his arm around his brother's waist, Athos guided d'Artagnan back to the tree he had been tied to before. One of the men pointed at the base of the tree. Athos eased d'Artagnan to the ground before he was roughly pulled away by two of Perrault's men and pushed to sit by the next tree. They were both bound again, the ropes tied tightly.

Porthos was watching them both, taking in the injuries to d'Artagnan and looking at Athos carefully. Athos wished he could talk freely to his worried friend but did not want to annoy their captor.

MMMM

Porthos had given up trying to pull his wrists free of the ropes. He had also given up trying to twist around to see what was going on in the clearing behind him. He had been able to hear Athos and d'Artagnan fighting, the clash of swords sounding loud in the quiet wood. Porthos had wondered if Perrault would call a halt to his macabre entertainment before one of them made a fatal mistake. He had not been able to keep track of the time Athos and d'Artagnan had been fighting, but he knew they would both be tiring.

When the sword fight stopped Porthos had once again tried to twist around but had still been unsuccessful.

He heard Athos demand that Aramis be released and Perrault telling them he would be once they had been restrained. Porthos did not want to guess what had happened to Aramis.

Athos and d'Artagnan reappeared. Athos was helping d'Artagnan to walk. The younger Musketeer looked exhausted. He was injured, limping slightly, and wincing. The men with guns indicated for Athos to help d'Artagnan to sit in front of the tree next to Porthos. D'Artagnan gasped as whatever injuries he had were agitated as he was lowered to the ground. The men grabbed Athos and pulled him to the next tree, pushing him down and making short work of tying him up. Athos ignored the men, looking at d'Artagnan with concern. Athos glanced at Porthos but did not say anything, he looked angry.

Once they had both been fully restrained Perrault walked back from the clearing leading the pock-marked man who was helping Aramis. Porthos was shocked at the state of his brother. The bruises he had on his face from being punched earlier had darkened considerably. But now Aramis also sported bruises and grazes to his neck, it was obvious he had been strangled. The pock-marked man did not need to push Aramis to sit in front of the tree on the other side of Porthos, the Musketeer simply crumpled to the floor. The man pushed him to lean back on the trunk before restraining him, the action causing Aramis to cough and wince.

Perrault waited until they were all tied up and Aramis had stopped coughing. D'Artagnan was struggling to keep his eyes open. Athos was glaring at the man.

'I'll give you some time to recover,' said Perrault with a glance at Aramis.

The noble nodded to a couple of his men who walked forward with a bucket of water with a cup, and Aramis' medical bag.

Perrault stepping in front of Porthos, 'I don't want you to think I have forgotten you,' he said, 'I'd like you to take part in the next entertainment. I've heard, from some of my men who frequent the taverns in the city that you are an accomplished fighter. I'd like a demonstration. Once he has rested a little you can demonstrate on him.'

Perrault pointed at Aramis who was taking shaky breaths.

'He's not fit to fight,' said Porthos.

'I know, but he managed to strangle himself earlier, it was a good job I was there to save him…You will fight until one of you is unconscious or dead.'

Athos, who had been watching Perrault said, 'you will not get away with this. What do you expect to gain? When the King hears you have hurt us as an act of revenge against him he will have you arrested.'

Perrault looked across to Athos and shook his head, 'I really don't care.' He looked at them each in turn, 'this is making me feel much better after the King refused me a better title.'

'Aren't you lucky,' muttered d'Artagnan.

Perrault smirked again, 'you,' he said, returning his attention to Porthos, 'you will be untied. Make use of the water and the medical kit. Clean your comrades up.'

Perrault nodded to the man closest to Porthos who knelt behind him and began to untie the ropes. Porthos rubbed at his wrists as the ropes fell away.

'If he tries to run, shoot one of the others in the knee,' said Perrault as he walked away.

The man who had untied him stepped away, he and another couple of the noble's men moved to stand several yards away. Porthos watched them talking quietly to each other, they had obviously moved out of earshot so they could talk about the Musketeers. The move meant the Musketeers could also talk quietly without being overheard. The men were watching them carefully, Porthos knew he could not try to untie his brothers. There was no chance of escape, although he doubted d'Artagnan or Aramis would have been able to move quickly enough to escape at that moment. Both men were clearly exhausted.

He grabbed the medical bag and bucket, he looked at Aramis who nodded towards d'Artagnan.

'He is right,' said Athos quietly, 'you should check d'Artagnan first, I do not think his injuries are serious, but I was not given a chance to look at them…'

Athos looked guilty, Porthos could only guess at what had gone on during their sword fight.

'You had to do it,' said d'Artagnan, 'there was no way I could have beaten you in my current state.'

Porthos knelt in front of d'Artagnan, he dipped the cup into the water and helped his friend to drink.

'We have to get away from him,' said d'Artagnan as Porthos undid his doublet to look at the injury to his side.

As gently as he could, but not without causing d'Artagnan to wince in pain a few times, Porthos untucked his shirt and lifted the fabric off the wound. The injury was not deep but awkwardly placed.

'I tried to catch you where it would do the least damage,' said Athos, 'I'm sorry.'

'It was hardly an ideal situation was it?' said d'Artagnan before screwing his eyes shut and gasping as Porthos cleaned the wound.

Porthos waited for d'Artagnan to calm down before feeding a bandage around his waist, securing it firmly.

'It won't need stitches,' he concluded. 'Can you lean forward a little I want to see the cut to your arm.'

D'Artagnan did as he was told but paused to look across to Aramis when he coughed a few times, taking gasped breaths in between. Porthos left d'Artagnan and crossed to the suffering man. He steadied Aramis who had leaned forward as he coughed.

It took Aramis several seconds to get control of his breathing again before leaning back, he managed to focus on Porthos.

'Nothing...you can...do,' he managed to say, his voice hoarse and crackled.

Porthos could clearly see where the rough rope had grazed his brother's neck and the bruising where he had struggled against it.

'How long did he leave him hanging for?' asked Porthos with a glance at Athos.

'Longer than was necessary for his demonstration,' replied Athos with disdain.

Porthos shook his head as he collected the water and cup. He helped Aramis to drink some of the cool water, pausing frequently when his friend struggled to swallow the liquid. The coughing and spluttering his helpless friend did was quite unnerving. All Porthos could do was remain close by until he had recovered enough to lean on the tree without support.

'See to d'Artagnan,' whispered Aramis.

Porthos managed a smile, 'in a second, I've not finished with you yet.'

He moved back to Athos, reaching down and taking his scarf. Athos nodded his ascent to the move. After dipping the scarf in the water, he loosely tied it around Aramis' neck, covering the bruising and grazes. Aramis nodded his thanks before leaning his head back and closing his eyes, concentrating on his breathing.

Porthos returned to d'Artagnan and continued to ease his doublet off his shoulder. With his arms tied behind him, it was difficult for d'Artagnan to lean very far forward, but Porthos managed to ease the sleeve far enough down to get at the injury. He ripped d'Artagnan's shirt a little.

'Not serious, barely bleeding now. I'll clean it up.'

Porthos heard Athos audibly sigh with relief.

'I don't blame you Athos,' said d'Artagnan. 'Or you,' he continued moving his gaze to Aramis.

Porthos glanced around catching Aramis looking guilty.

'D'Artagnan's right, Perrault could have picked either of us as the motivation,' said Porthos.

Athos shook his head, 'I am not so sure. He seems to have this all planned out. You heard him, he wants you and Aramis to fight each other next. I am starting to wonder if he wanted both of the fights to be one-sided.'

'We need to find a way out of this,' said Aramis quietly before coughing a few times.

Porthos looked around wondering what they could do.

MMMM


	3. Chapter 3

**Authors note: There are a few swear words in the next few chapters, but they are in context. And please read the authors note at the end of this chapter.**

Chapter Three

Aramis watched Porthos finish his ministrations. D'Artagnan looked pale, as Porthos pulled his doublet back into place being as gentle as he could given the circumstances. Poor d'Artagnan had looked on the verge of passing out as he was pushed about in order to get the doublet's sleeve far enough down his arm for Porthos to get at the injury.

Athos still looked guilty for having hurt their brother. But the circumstances, that he had unwittingly contributed to had left Athos with no choice.

Aramis shuddered inwardly at the memory of being dragged to the clearing. The men had been firm and rough with him, there was no chance of him escaping them. He had already been stunned from the slap he had received from the pock-marked thug. The men had tripped him to the floor in the clearing and firmly tied his arms behind his back, a gag forced into his mouth. He had been pulled up and forced up onto the small stool which was not on level ground. He had been held still as the noose was thrown over a branch and lowered to be level with his chin. When the pock-marked thug slipped the rope around his neck and tightened it to the point that left Aramis worried about his breathing the thug had grinned at him. The rope had been pulled taught and tied off somewhere behind him. As he stood there, Aramis was sure the stool was sinking into the soft earth. He was sure he would be strangled just by standing where he was.

When Athos and d'Artagnan had been brought out and Perrault had kicked the stool away, Aramis was convinced he would die, struggling to breathe, struggling to find the ground. His vision had greyed and what felt like lightning bolts had shot up and down his body, the pain was excruciating, but he could do nothing.

After they had put the stool back Aramis was grateful the thug had kept hold of him, the strong hands on his waist keeping him steady were the only things keeping him upright for some time.

When Athos and d'Artagnan had fought he had followed the action as well as he could, although he was continually distracted by the need to keep his balance. He had felt light-headed, but he knew he could not pass out. Perrault would probably have just left him to die. The deranged noble clearly cared more for his misguided attempt at revenge than their wellbeing.

D'Artagnan's collapse had not come as a surprise, the man had been struggling from the start of the fight. The blow to the head he had suffered would have still been affecting him. Under normal circumstances, they would not have allowed him to do anything too strenuous until his headache had subsided.

Now they were all back together, but the circumstances had not improved.

Aramis watched Porthos help Athos to drink some of the water and discuss how they were going to get out of their current situation for a few seconds before closing his eyes. He really wanted to sleep but knew he probably should not.

He jumped slightly when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He opened his eyes to find Porthos looking at him with concern. Aramis blinked a few times before looking at Athos and d'Artagnan.

'What?' he asked with confusion before coughing.

Porthos' hand squeezed his shoulder until the coughing stopped. Aramis took a few seconds to get his laboured breathing under control.

'Drink some more water,' said Porthos quietly. 'I think you passed out.'

Aramis wanted to disagree but from the looks, on his brother's faces he guessed he had not simply fallen asleep. He disliked being a potential liability to their escape, but he knew what had happened had not been his fault.

Porthos held up the cup, Aramis dutifully drank the cool water which tasted a little odd, he wondered if his abused throat had affected him. He thought Porthos' hand was shaking slightly. Aramis decided that he was seeing and feeling things that were not there. The pain he still felt and the headache that accompanied it was taking its toll on him. He looked beyond his friend to see Perrault watching them. He had been unaware of the nobleman returning.

Aramis guessed it was his and Porthos' turn to provide the entertainment.

MMMM

D'Artagnan hissed in pain as Perrault's man grabbed him by his injured arm and pulled him up to stand. He screwed his eyes shut and was vaguely aware of Athos remonstrating with the man for hurting him. He was not given a chance to catch his breath, instead, he was pulled forward and forced to walk back to the clearing.

Porthos and Aramis had already been taken. D'Artagnan had not been convinced Aramis would stay upright long enough, but he had proved him wrong by managing to walk unaided, although Porthos had remained close to his friend.

D'Artagnan was stopped at the edge of the clearing and pushed to sit on the ground, he felt the muzzle of one of the men's guns resting on his shoulder, the threat enough to keep him still.

Perrault appeared beside him, he looked down at him and smiled. The smile conveyed all that was wrong with the man. He was callous and uncaring. His wish to see Musketeers injured had already been carried out. Not only was d'Artagnan injured enough to see him out of commission for a few days, he doubted Aramis would be fit to return to work immediately.

Porthos and Aramis were stood in the centre of the clearing, their doublets had been taken from them. D'Artagnan could see a couple of the men looking at the jackets, probably deciding if they were better than the ones they were wearing. Although the men were wearing good quality clothing. Perrault obviously paid his men well.

The noble turned to the two men in the centre of the clearing. Porthos looked angry and a little apprehensive. Aramis looked tired, his time asleep had not helped him, d'Artagnan guessed that Aramis, like himself, was suffering from a headache, which would impede his judgement and speed. The fight was going to be one-sided even if Porthos did not put all his effort into it.

'The rules are simple,' said Perrault, 'you fight, or he will be shot. My man will shoot him in the leg, not a fatal shot, but enough to see him unable to continue as a soldier. But if either of you tries to attack me or my men, or you try to make a run for it, he will be shot in the stomach. Your friend back there will follow.'

Perrault looked at them both for a few seconds before he settled his gaze on Porthos.

'When you knock him out, I will know if he is faking it or not,' said Perrault to Porthos.

D'Artagnan saw Aramis waver slightly, blinking a few times. Porthos glared at Perrault.

'Entertain me then,' said the noble with a wave of his hand, not dissimilar to the manner the King sometimes took when he was bored.

Aramis turned to Porthos, who continued to stare at their captor for a few more seconds.

D'Artagnan had seen his friends sparring before, he had seen them fist fight in the garrison yard, usually surrounded by Musketeers and cadets shouting encouragement. Porthos always won, but he also always pulled his punches. Neither man was ever really hurt. The fighting was always for fun, a test of skill.

Porthos finally turned to his brother, the look of guilt already on his face. They knew how it would end, they also knew that Porthos could not simply punch Aramis and hope to knock him out on the first strike. Perrault would not be satisfied with such an outcome. D'Artagnan knew the threat to him would make his friend put on a show for the noble.

D'Artagnan looked at the man who was watching intently as Aramis threw the first punch, easily avoided by Porthos. Perrault was grinning, although it was more of a sneer, he had his arms folded across his chest as he watched the two men fight. He was following their moves carefully, moving slightly, mimicking their movements, dodging a few inches to each side as one or the other of his captives moved to miss a strike.

Looking back at his friends d'Artagnan could see how difficult Porthos was finding the fight. He was being forced to fight someone who was not one hundred per cent fit. D'Artagnan guessed Porthos was feeling the same as Athos had felt earlier. D'Artagnan remembered trying to fight convincingly and not simply give in to the pounding in his head at the time.

Aramis was trying, but d'Artagnan could see him letting his guard down almost immediately into the fight. He hoped Perrault could not tell that Porthos was not hitting his friend with his full force. Aramis would probably be knocked to the ground if Porthos punched him properly, the man was struggling to stay upright as it was. He was panting hard; his laboured breathing and no doubt sore neck and throat could not have been helping him.

D'Artagnan knew that both himself and Aramis would not be much use in a fight against the noble's men.

But to give Aramis his due, he was making the fight look good, despite the obvious discomfort he was in. D'Artagnan noticed a couple of occasions where Porthos had to genuinely dodge a punch.

Both men had managed to land a few punches, d'Artagnan could see a bruise on Aramis' shoulder where he had not been quick enough to move aside. And Porthos had obviously been hit on the face at one point, a split lip the telling result.

MMMM

Aramis was struggling, he knew he was struggling because Porthos was pulling his punches more than he usually did. When they sparred under normal circumstances, they both held back, neither man wanted to really hurt the other. But they would still be left bruised by the encounter and he generally ended up on the floor.

He hurt. His head hurt. His neck and shoulders hurt. Aramis was an unhappy Musketeer.

But he had to put on a show for the noble or d'Artagnan would be hurt. They all knew it would be him that would lose the one-sided fight, but he could not simply allow Porthos to knock him out, Perrault would not 'enjoy' such a move. No, Aramis had to keep fighting for as long as he could.

Perrault certainly knew how to get his entertainment. Aramis was sure the man had planned ahead, deliberately leaving two of them injured so that the fights would be harder. One man was struggling to fight, and one man was struggling not to hold back too much. Perrault was getting his revenge. Aramis decided it was unsurprising that the noble had not been given a more senior title by the King. The King had, in this instance, made a good decision. Even if that decision was not coming at a cost to the four of them.

Porthos threw another punch that he was not quick enough to avoid. His brother had managed to hit him in the stomach causing him to double over for a few seconds. His vision swam, not for the first time. Aramis was at the point where he wanted the fight to be over, he wondered if they had fought long enough to placate Perrault?

Aramis managed to straighten up and tried to reach for Porthos' shoulders to pull him down and knee him in the chest, but his brother read the move, probably before Aramis had even thought of it. His arms were easily knocked aside.

Aramis stumbled back two paces. The pounding in his head was worse, he felt dizzy, his vision was blurring. For a fraction of a second, he managed to focus on Porthos who looked guilty for some reason. Aramis did not know why.

Then he knew nothing at all.

MMMM

Porthos hated what they were doing. He hated that he was having to beat his friend in order to save another. Not that it would probably make a difference. Perrault might decide to just kill them all regardless.

Aramis managed to dodge out of the way of another slow punch. Perrault could not have had much exposure to fist fights. The entitled noble had probably led a protected life and now that he had more money and power than he knew what to do with had become greedy and wanted more. He had probably never seen a proper brawl before. His men would have done. Perrault had said that they had seen him fighting in taverns. If Perrault had known what a brawl looked like he would quickly have realised just how toned down the fight in front of him was. Porthos was surprised that none of his men had said anything. Perhaps they were paid not to talk to him? The hired thugs were probably too common for Perrault to want to associate with in anything other than a master and servant capacity.

Porthos continued his charade of a fight with his friend, he allowed Aramis to get a few hits in and watched him carefully. The already injured man was starting to waver. He would not last much longer. Porthos knew what he had to do.

MMMM

Aramis finally left himself open to a punch from Porthos that would be decisive in the fight. D'Artagnan winced in sympathy as Porthos punched Aramis hard enough across the face to send him reeling. He stumbled back a few paces before dropping to the ground like a stone. The fight ending so suddenly it took Perrault a moment to realise.

D'Artagnan tried to scramble up, he could not help himself, he wanted to check on their friend. The man with the gun next to him used his free hand to push him back down, holding him there firmly. All d'Artagnan could do was watch.

Perrault uncrossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at Aramis and Porthos. Porthos had taken a couple of steps forward before pausing and staring at Aramis. The Musketeer was breathing hard, he slowly unclenched his fist as he looked at his friend lying in a crumpled heap on the ground. With faltering steps, Porthos moved forward.

Aramis had not moved from where he had landed, his left leg was bent up under him, one arm stretched out to the side the other across his body. The bruises on his face showing starkly against his pale skin. The dampened scarf had been lost in the fight leaving the dark ring of bruises on his neck exposed. His shirt had become untucked revealing further bruises and grazes to his body. Despite Porthos only using a fraction of his power their friend was still a sorry sight.

Slowly Porthos knelt by Aramis leaning forward slightly, looking at him intently. He lay his hand on Aramis' chest for several seconds before moving to grab him by the shoulders.

'Aramis?'

Porthos gently shook their friend. All the shaking did was cause Aramis' arm to fall to the side limply.

'Aramis, wake up.'

Porthos spoke a little more firmly, the command in his tone caused Perrault to take a step forward.

Porthos had started to shake Aramis with more urgency before pausing and leaning over their friend again, putting his cheek close to Aramis' mouth. The clearing was silent except for the rustle of the leaves as a gentle breeze shook them and the distant chirp of a couple of small birds.

D'Artagnan leaned forward as far as the man with the gun holding him would allow. He glanced up at Perrault who was engrossed in the scene in front of him. D'Artagnan guessed the Perrault was waiting for Porthos to sit back on his heels and let out a relieved sigh. But Porthos did not. Porthos went back to shaking Aramis. Aramis did not respond to the increasingly urgent attempts to waken him.

Perrault walked forward stopping by Porthos who did not bother to look up. Porthos knew the man was there.

'Come on Aramis…'

Porthos twisted around, pulling his friend up to lie against him. He bent his head down, into Aramis' shoulder.

D'Artagnan looked at Perrault again. The man could barely contain himself. He had a satisfied smile that crept across his face slowly at first, before turning into an unabashed gleeful grin.

'Is he...is he dead?'

Porthos was breathing fast, he had pulled Aramis closer to him, wrapping his arms around his friend. D'Artagnan could see Porthos rocking slightly his breaths coming in shaky gasps. When Porthos looked up, he had tears in his eyes.

'You bastard.'

The words were said with venom, but Porthos made no attempt to get up and attack Perrault. He continued to cradle his brother in his arms as if his life depended on it. Perrault crouched down in front of Porthos and Aramis, he reached forward and tipped Aramis head from one side to the other, looking at the bruising. After a few seconds, he seemed satisfied. Porthos had glared at the man, tears spilling from his eyes, his shaking breaths causing the otherwise still form of Aramis to move slightly.

Perrault rose, he looked around the clearing at the assembled men.

'We're leaving,' he said.

The man holding d'Artagnan in place released his grasp but kept the gun aimed in his direction. D'Artagnan did not want to make the bad situation worse, he remained where he was. All around the clearing the men were gathering any belongings they had. The two men who had taken Porthos and Aramis' doublets looked at them again before throwing them on the ground, d'Artagnan guessed the men travelled light and had no need for the jackets.

Some of the men looked at Porthos and Aramis quizzically. D'Artagnan saw the pock-marked man sneer at the grieving man before turning away.

Three men, including the man who had kept d'Artagnan in place, remained with their guns trained on Porthos and himself.

Perrault turned to d'Artagnan, 'you can tell the King that I consider us even now. He deprived me of the title I deserve, and I have deprived him of a soldier. He will not hear from me again. I am wealthy enough to make my life elsewhere as he clearly does not have need of his nobles.'

With a final glance at Porthos and Aramis, Perrault turned on his heel and walked away. The last few men were disappearing ahead of him, the gunmen backed away until they were out of the clearing. D'Artagnan could hear them moving through the wood.

The clearing was quiet except for Porthos' shaking breaths.

MMMM

**Authors note: Trust me. I would have warned you if necessary. If you don't trust me, you can PM me for a spoiler. But I hope that you trust me.**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

_Earlier..._

Athos watched Porthos glancing around. He looked at the three men who were keeping an eye on him as he tended to their injuries. The men were watching them, but not as intently as they had been. Porthos looked back at Athos and d'Artagnan.

'There's something we could try,' he said hesitantly. 'But it's risky.'

'What do you have in mind?' asked Athos as he watched their guards over Porthos' shoulder.

'Perrault wants to kill one of us. He won't be satisfied until one of us is dead...I think one of us has to die.'

Athos refocused on Porthos, unable to hide the shocked confusion on his face. Did his friend intend to get himself, or one of them killed?

Porthos rolled his eyes.

'One day you'll remember my upbringing before you start thinking I'm making idiotic suggestions,' he said. 'Obviously, none of us is really going to die. It will just look like it.'

Porthos looked pointedly at a lush green bush growing a couple of feet away near the tree Porthos had been tied to.

'The berries…' said d'Artagnan who had worked out what Porthos was suggesting.

Athos shook his head, 'it is too dangerous. You cannot.'

Porthos sighed, 'I can't, it would be too obvious if I... died,' he said looking away. 'That bastard is expecting me to win…'

Athos followed his gaze. Porthos was looking at Aramis who was either asleep or in too much pain to have heard their conversation.

'If you give him too much, you will kill him,' said Athos before pausing. 'But it is a good plan.'

'What?!'

They both looked across at d'Artagnan who was staring at them with an incredulous expression.

'Do you have any other ideas? If one of us is dead, Perrault will have achieved what he wants,' said Athos.

'What if he wants more than one of us dead?'

Athos contemplated d'Artagnan's words. The plan was risky. Even if they could make it look as though Aramis had died, Perrault might want more.

The berries of the shrub, if given in a small enough dose, would render a man unconscious with the appearance of death. The poison victim would take few breaths, to the casual observer they would appear dead.

Porthos was collecting a few berries and crushing them against the side of the cup of water.

'Do you know how much to give?' asked d'Artagnan who still did not look happy about the plan.

Porthos answered quietly, 'I've used it on someone before…it will take a while to work, I'll have to time a punch to coincide with him passing out.'

Athos wondered what the story was behind the muttered reply. He decided the time to ask would be later if he asked at all.

'Why don't you just knock him out?' said d'Artagnan who was still looking shocked at the suggested plan.

'Because,' said Athos, 'if Porthos only knocks Aramis out, it might not be enough for Perrault. He may just wait until he comes around and make them fight again.'

'If he doesn't want to do it. We'll come up with something else,' said Porthos, Athos suspected he was talking to himself more than to them.

'But he will want to do it,' remarked Athos. 'He'll want to take the risk.'

Athos watched as Porthos moved across to Aramis who had not moved for several minutes. Porthos was about to wake him when Perrault reappeared.

'How touching,' he said with a sneer to his voice. 'I think it is time you woke your friend; he needs to be alert for my entertainment.'

Athos watched the indecision crossing Porthos' mind. He was holding the cup of poison, but there would be no time to explain to Aramis their plan. Perrault was within earshot and the other men had moved closer. Equally, it was obvious that Porthos had intended to offer Aramis the water to drink. If he were to tip it away Perrault would become suspicious.

Porthos reached out to his brother, resting his hand on Aramis' shoulder. The sleeping man woke with a start.

'What?' asked Aramis with confusion before coughing.

Porthos' squeezed Aramis' shoulder until the coughing stopped. Aramis took a few seconds to get his laboured breathing under control.

'Drink some more water,' said Porthos quietly. 'I think you passed out.'

Athos watched as Porthos helped their brother to drink the poison. There had been no way to communicate to him what they were planning. D'Artagnan could not stop a quiet gasp as he watched what Porthos was doing. Aramis pulled a slightly disapproving face but continued to drink the water.

Perrault had obviously lost his patience he indicated to two of his men to step forward. One man aimed a gun at Porthos as the other untied Aramis. Porthos moved forward to help his brother up. Athos saw Porthos looking at Aramis carefully. They knew the drug would not be affecting their friend, but his other injuries would be causing him problems. In true Aramis style, the injured man managed to stand unaided and walked confidently beside Porthos towards the clearing.

As Aramis and Porthos disappeared from view Perrault looked toward one of his men.

'That one,' he said, pointing at d'Artagnan.

Perrault walked away as the hired man stepped forward, a second man raised his gun, aiming it at Athos. D'Artagnan did not resist as he was untied, but he did hiss in pain as he was pulled up to stand by his injured arm. Athos was worried the Musketeer would pass out.

'You can see he is injured,' remonstrated Athos.

The man glared at him but did pause long enough for d'Artagnan to regain his composure before forcing him towards the clearing, no doubt to be the encouragement to keep Porthos and Aramis fighting.

Athos was left alone, securely tied to the tree. All he could do was wait as their hastily made plan was carried out, without the knowledge of one of the participants.

MMMM

_Now..._

Porthos was impressed with how well Aramis fought considering his injuries and the fact that he was slowly succumbing to a poison he did not know he had ingested. Porthos wished he had been able to tell him what was in the water. Aramis had pulled a face when he drank it but still slaked his thirst. The poison would work its way around Aramis before making him unconscious for some time. Porthos had to watch his friend carefully as well as make the fight look good for Perrault.

One worry Porthos had was if Aramis tried to give him too many opportunities to knock him out before the poison worked. They all knew Perrault was expecting Porthos to win over the already injured man. If Aramis knew he had been poisoned he could have fought without the worry of entertaining the disenchanted noble.

As the telltale signs of the poison working on Aramis became apparent Porthos was careful to time his punches. As Aramis started to pass out Porthos hit him hard enough to knock him down. The punch was probably not enough to knock him out, but as he was falling unconscious anyway Aramis stumbled away and collapsed.

Porthos had to sell their ruse to Perrault. He spent a couple of minutes trying to wake his friend up. Then changed his tactic to showing grief, pulling Aramis up to lean against him.

When Perrault crouched in front of him, Porthos was sure the man would see through the facade. If he pulled Aramis away from him and found that he was still breathing their plan would be foiled. Porthos ensured that he did not keep completely still. The poison would have limited Aramis' breaths, but they would still come and his heart would still be beating.

At least Porthos hoped and prayed his brother's heart was still beating and the sporadic breaths were there. He had no way of knowing until he could check Aramis properly. And he could not do that until Perrault was gone.

D'Artagnan was watching him from the edge of the clearing. One of the noble's men was still pointing a gun at him. Porthos could tell d'Artagnan wanted to come over to them. He had watched the younger man as he fought Aramis, it was clear that d'Artagnan was not happy with their plan.

Perrault walked away with barely a glance once he was satisfied that he had killed a Musketeer. Porthos almost sighed with relief, but the relief was not what he felt.

When he was sure the noble's men were all out of sight he eased his brother off him and lay him flat on his back on the ground. D'Artagnan had moved across to them as soon as the men had reached the edge of the clearing, he was watching the direction they had gone intently. After a few seconds, he nodded to Porthos.

'Is he alright?' asked d'Artagnan, not bothering to hide the concern.

Porthos shook his head, 'I don't know.'

He rested his hand on Aramis' chest and leaned forward, putting his cheek close to his mouth and nose. D'Artagnan remained silent, only a few tweeting birds and the breeze in the trees above disturbed them.

The moment seemed to stretch forever for Porthos. Had he killed his brother? He had been guessing at the dosage. He had seen it administered before and seen how much was used for a man of similar build and size to Aramis. But there could have been other factors that needed to be taken into account.

If Aramis did not take a breath, Porthos was not sure what he would do. They had not even been able to ask him if he was willing to participate in the plan. Of course, Porthos knew, Aramis would have wanted to play his part. But they had not asked him. He had poisoned his brother, in order to save the rest of them. Aramis would have sacrificed himself for them, but he had not been given a choice.

Porthos closed his eyes as he continued to wait.

The breath when Aramis took it was shallow. But it was there.

Porthos moved his hand to Aramis neck and, as gently as he could in deference to the injuries there, he felt for the pulse of his friend's heart. The pulse was strong.

He looked up at d'Artagnan and nodded. D'Artagnan let out a shaky breath.

'How long will he be unconscious?'

Porthos shrugged his shoulders, 'could be a couple of hours.' He looked around, 'we can't stay here, they might come back. Get Athos and whatever they might have left behind. I'll stay with Aramis.'

D'Artagnan nodded and hurried off to where their other brother was no doubt impatiently waiting for his release and news of Aramis' state of health.

MMMM

Athos was agitated. He was desperate to know how his brothers were. He had been able to hear the fight, hear the punches landing and heard when Aramis collapsed. Perrault had been pleased with the way the fight had gone. Athos was determined they would get even with the man. He was determined justice would be served either by the thrust of a sword into the noble's body or the swing of a sword through the man's neck. Perrault was most likely responsible for the death of the unfortunate woman who had been trapped under the cart. And he had caused injury to two of his friends. All so that he could get some revenge on a King who would probably not even be particularly bothered that his Musketeers had been attacked.

The silence that followed the retreat of the noble seemed to go on forever. Athos longed to know what was going on. He guessed Porthos was making sure Aramis was alright. But why had d'Artagnan not come to release him? Had something happened to him and Porthos? Were none of them coming to release him?

He tensed up as he heard someone approach, only relaxing slightly when d'Artagnan appeared. His brother was pale but did not appear to have suffered any further injuries.

Before Athos could say anything d'Artagnan spoke first, 'they've gone. He's alive. Porthos is with him, but we should go.'

Athos nodded as he watched d'Artagnan start to undo the ropes that were keeping him restrained. It took a while for the ropes to fall free, Athos could see that d'Artagnan was tired, the momentary lull from the constant threat had caused his brother's injuries to catch up with him. As Athos scrambled up, he was forced to grab d'Artagnan as he wavered and took a stumbled step back.

'Take your time,' said Athos quietly.

D'Artagnan blinked a few times before straightening up.

'How bad is it?'

After a few seconds d'Artagnan managed to focus on him, 'it's not really got any better.'

Athos appreciated his brother's honesty. The head injury d'Artagnan had received would normally have seen the younger man confined to bed for several hours and even after that he would not be given anything strenuous to do for a couple of days. Their current circumstances meant d'Artagnan was being forced to push himself to the limit of his ability. The man needed to rest. But Athos doubted they would be able to afford to give him that chance for a while.

Keeping his hand on d'Artagnan's arm Athos walked with him back to the clearing.

Porthos looked up as they approached, his hand was resting Aramis chest, the unconscious man was as pale as d'Artagnan and very still.

'I think,' said Athos, 'we need to find somewhere we can hide until Aramis comes around and give d'Artagnan a chance to rest.'

Porthos nodded, d'Artagnan did not respond for a few seconds.

'I'm sorry,' he said eventually.

'Don't be, I'm impressed you're still walking,' remarked Porthos with a brief smile.

Athos left d'Artagnan with Porthos and Aramis as he scouted the clearing. Perrault had planned well for his mix of revenge and entertainment. There was a pile of cut down shrubs and bushes heaped up at the side of the clearing, the remains of a couple of fires and a rudimentary shelter a little way out of the clearing. The men had also been thorough when they left. Athos did a careful sweep of the area but did not find anything of use. He spotted the discarded doublets belonging to his friends a few yards away. After scooping them up he returned to his brothers.

Porthos had found a waterskin and was encouraging d'Artagnan to drink. He was using a dampened rag to clean the dirt from Aramis' face and hands where he had fallen to the soft earth after losing consciousness.

'They have not left anything,' said Athos as he handed Porthos his doublet.

Between them, they managed to manipulate Aramis back into his jacket. Athos did not like how limp his brother was. He also did not like how ashen d'Artagnan was and how worried Porthos looked.

He knew they needed to get as far from the clearing as they could. They did not want to risk still being there if Perrault or any of his men decided to return.

'I came passed this way a few weeks ago,' said d'Artagnan, who had taken the task of monitoring Aramis' breathing, his hand resting lightly on the unconscious man's chest.

'Do you know somewhere we could take shelter?' asked Athos.

D'Artagnan nodded, 'there's a cottage, it's abandoned but still had its doors and shutters for the windows. It's about half a mile.'

D'Artagnan pointed in the opposite direction to that which Perrault and his men had gone. Athos looked at Porthos who nodded.

'Can you manage him that far?' asked Athos.

Porthos nodded a second time.

'Let's get off then,' said Athos as he moved forward to help Porthos get the limp form of Aramis over his shoulder.

D'Artagnan got to his feet slowly, Athos noted the few seconds the young man closed his eyes for. He knew d'Artagnan needed to rest if he was going to recover from his head injury. D'Artagnan looked at him.

'I'll be fine,' he said with a smile, 'provided I don't need to move quickly.'

'Well I ain't moving quickly, so you've nothing to worry about there,' said Porthos as he moved off, weighed down by Aramis.

Athos walked next to d'Artagnan, he did not wish to mollycoddle their brother, but equally did not like to leave the obviously suffering man to stumble or fall. Porthos followed taking careful steps. D'Artagnan managed to pick a clear path through the wood, skirting any fallen trees or potential tripping hazards for Porthos.

Their ordeal was not over, but Athos hoped they were out of immediate danger. He wanted to be able to concentrate on their injured brothers, not be worrying about Perrault and his men.

MMMM

_A little later..._

D'Artagnan shifted slightly in his sleep as a dream caused him to flinch away from some unseen foe. Porthos was about to wake the troubled man but the dream passed and d'Artagnan settled again into a more relaxed slumber.

Porthos sighed and returned his attention to Aramis. He would have liked his friend to have shown some sign of consciousness, but Aramis remained still and pale. The only positive sign had been that his breathing was getting back to normal.

It had been torturous when they had first reached the cottage and Porthos had been able to lay Aramis down on one of two old beds. All three men had waited silently as Porthos rested his hand on Aramis' chest. When Aramis had taken a breath they had all sighed with relief. Porthos had been convinced for several seconds that his friend had died during the journey to the cottage. Athos had squeezed his shoulder for a few seconds offering what reassurance he could.

Now they had to wait. D'Artagnan had taken the other cramped bed in the abandoned cottage, his feet hanging off the end of the too-short bed. He had fallen asleep within minutes, the tenseness around his eyes leaving him as he relaxed, only returning each time he had a dream. It annoyed Porthos that d'Artagnan had already had several short disturbing dreams.

Athos had gone to scout the area with the hope of finding something for them to eat. Porthos looked at the small hearth and wondered if they could risk a fire. Perrault and his men had gone in the opposite direction, so the smoke would not give them away. He decided to wait until Athos returned and they had a better idea of their surroundings.

The cottage was small, it could probably have been described as cosy when it was inhabited, but now was dusty and dirty. The two rooms did not provide much, the two small beds had been put to use as soon as they reached them. A tatty blanket all that covered the straw mattress on the one Aramis was now stretched out on. Porthos was pleased that his and Aramis' doublets had been left behind. The days were warm enough but the night would no doubt be chilly, more so if they could not start a fire.

Aramis' breathing was approaching normal, but he still showed no signs of waking. Porthos was filled with the dread that he might have somehow damaged his brother when he poisoned him.

Deciding that Aramis would be fine for a few minutes Porthos moved to d'Artagnan's side. He gently eased d'Artagnan's doublet aside and checked the bandage covering the wound on his side. There were no signs of the wound still bleeding. He did not want to disturb the sleeping Musketeer so could not check the injury to his arm, but d'Artagnan had not complained about either sword wound. Porthos suspected d'Artagnan would be stiff after sleeping. Up to that point he had been able to keep fairly mobile, but the excess activity whilst injured would have left him with overstretched muscles and fatigue. Poor d'Artagnan was not going to be pain-free when he awoke even if the headache he had obviously been suffering from had abated.

Porthos wished they could tend to their injured brothers properly. Aramis was covered in bruises and grazes. The bruises on his neck were several shades and would no doubt continue to trouble him even after he had come around. They had no water, after finishing up the discarded water skin quickly. He hoped Athos would find a water source on his reconnaissance. They were all in danger of becoming dehydrated, but Athos and d'Artagnan were in the greatest need.

A noise outside the cottage drew his attention. He knew it was probably Athos but he was not about to become complacent with the belief that they were safe. He grabbed the roughly cut candle holder they had found in the cottage, holding it up as a weapon.

Porthos was prepared to defend his injured brothers with his life.

MMMM

**Authors note: Thank you for trusting me. I've not named the berry but it's based on Deadly Nightshade, my research kept leading me in all sorts of directions, so don't take this as how to actually use it…not that I would expect you to ever be in similar circumstances…but then again…**


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

'I would rather you did not hit me with your improvised weapon, Porthos,' said Athos.

Porthos lowered the candlestick and opened the creaky wooden door. Athos looked at him, Porthos shrugged.

'There is no sign of Perrault, his men, or anyone for that matter. I walked some way further through the wood but found no other signs of life. We are quite alone here. I can understand why the place is abandoned.'

Porthos looked at Athos' hands, he was rather awkwardly holding four apples and a pile of berries.

'These ones are not poisonous,' he said with half a smile.

Porthos returned the smile and helped his friend to lay the collected fruit on the wobbly table they had found in the main room of the cottage.

'Any sign of him waking?'

Porthos shook his head, 'no. But his breathing is back to normal. D'Artagnan's been sleeping, but not soundly.'

Athos looked at the two injured Musketeers from the doorway, 'at least d'Artagnan is getting some rest, something he has needed for some hours now.'

They settled on the floor, leaning against the wall, watching the two sleeping men whilst they each ate an apple.

'These are good,' said Porthos as he savoured the sweet fruit.

'I should hope so,' remarked Athos, 'I had to climb up the tree a little to pick them, these are not windfall.'

Porthos managed a snigger at the thought of his brother climbing a tree to get food for them.

'It's odd to think,' said Porthos after another bite of his apple, 'that the wood's provided us with both a poison and food.'

'It is a relief to know that we can tell the difference between them,' remarked Athos.

They continued eating in silence for a few minutes.

'I found a stream as well,' Athos said, 'I refilled the water skin.'

'There's a couple of buckets in the other room,' said Porthos, 'I'll get more water in a bit…

He trailed off looking at the two men lying on the beds in front of them.

'They will be fine,' said Athos.

'I know,' replied Porthos.

MMMM

'The arrangements are nearly all complete,' said the aloof man. 'I'll be leaving later today. I need to be gone before the rest of them reach the city.'

Pierre looked up from his food, he glanced at Marc who was listening intently to the man sat at the table next to them. The two Musketeers were enjoying a well-earned break from patrolling the marketplaces, but as with all the men of the garrison, they were always alert to anything suspicious even when they were not actively working.

The man continued talking, 'it was incredible to watch. The one that died, his friend, the brutish one, he could not accept what he had done...broke down in tears. Tears. A Musketeer, crying because he had caused the death of his comrade. We left them there, in the wood, they didn't try to follow us, the brawler just sat there holding his friend in his arms, the young one, who I was threatening to make them fight he was trying to get to them but my man prevented it...it was quite touching,' the man chuckled.

Pierre saw the colour drain from Marc's face; he guessed the look was a reflection of his own. Marc slowly put his spoon down, Pierre did the same all the time listening to what the man had to say.

'I dismissed most of the hired men straight away, I've kept on a dozen until I'm out of the city and I will get rid of the rest when I reach the border.'

'I applaud you, Charles, the King has wronged you and you have evened the score. A shame you have to run though...but he would probably come after you.'

Both the men at the table laughed.

Pierre glanced across. The man who had apparently caused the death of a Musketeer looked to be of noble stock, as did his friend.

'You must write to me Charles, once you are settled. I will be able to update you on how the King reacts to your revenge.'

'You do that, my friend, I look forward to it. Now, drink up, and I will get us another bottle.'

The noble drained his cup and pushed his chair back to stand, as he did so he looked at Pierre and Marc. It was obvious he had been oblivious to them up until that point. Wrapped up in his own conversation. His eyes widened as he took in the uniforms of the Musketeers and their shocked expressions. He probably had not expected to see soldiers in the slightly more expensive establishment, thought Pierre, but Marc was quite well off and liked to treat his friends occasionally.

Both Pierre and Marc rose from their seats. Marc took a step towards the noble.

'I think, monsieur,' he said, 'that you have some explaining to do.'

The noble stared at them both for a couple of seconds before his friend jumped up, knocking his own seat to the floor.

'Run, Charles,' said the man firmly as he threw the empty wine bottle at Pierre who was making a grab for the noble.

The bottle hit Pierre in the face, fortunately not breaking. But the distraction was enough. Pierre stumbled back, falling over his own chair and crashing to the ground. Marc tried to push forward but was stopped for a few seconds by the man's companion.

By the time the two Musketeers had got to the road outside the tavern, the noble had disappeared. The second man had also made good his escape.

'We need to get back and alert the Captain,' said Marc.

Pierre nodded, as they both broke into a run in the direction of the garrison.

MMMM

A sigh from Aramis made both Porthos and Athos look up. They had become silent after eating their share of the fruit. Porthos had been staring at his boots wondering if it was time to think about getting a new pair, he was snapped back to the present by his brother's sigh followed by him moving his hand up to his throat.

Athos beat Porthos to Aramis' side by a fraction of a second, catching the injured man's hand before he could inadvertently cause himself pain by rubbing at the bruising on his neck.

'What happened?' asked Aramis, his voice sounded dry and forced.

'You are safe. Do not worry about what happened for now. We are all here and are not in any danger at the moment.'

Athos had made sure Aramis was focused on him as he spoke. Porthos could tell his friend was confused, he looked around, his gaze stopping on d'Artagnan who was still sleeping on the bed next to him.

'He's fine. He took a blow to the head earlier, but he's been walking and talking. We're keeping an eye on him.'

Porthos wondered what the last thing was that Aramis could remember. The poison would probably leave his brother feeling quite ill for a while and no doubt confused.

Athos had picked up the waterskin, he helped Aramis to take a drink. His friend was still struggling to swallow, but the injuries to his neck seemed to have subsided somewhat.

'Rest, Aramis, sleep, we are here.'

Aramis still looked confused but nodded and closed his eyes. He relaxed after a couple of minutes, sleep taking him quickly.

Porthos looked down, the relief flooding through him. Athos patted his arm.

'He will not berate you for what you did. And I agreed that the plan was sound.'

Porthos nodded. Just knowing his friend was going to be alright had helped Porthos come to terms with what he had done.

'He'll be more alert next time he wakes,' said Porthos quietly. 'I'll feel better once he knows what I...what we...did to him.'

The two Musketeers retook their places on the floor, watching the injured men and contemplating their situation.

MMMM

Treville always enjoyed the moments that Luc managed to have an entire conversation with him. The tall Musketeer was generally quiet, and his gentleness belied his size. But he seemed to understand the horses. Treville had found him talking to one of the older horses that was showing signs of needing to be sold on.

'I think he would make a fine beast for someone,' said Luc as he stroked the horse's neck. 'He's not got the stamina now for our work. But he's got a good few years of usefulness yet.'

Treville smiled, Luc had been obviously upset when they had been forced to shoot a horse the previous week after the unfortunate beast fell and broke her leg. He had been the one to hold the beast still as the farrier fired the gun.

'I'll make the arrangements,' said Treville, 'perhaps you could deal with the sale for me?'

Luc looked surprised and proud to be given the responsibility. Treville hid a smile, it always pleased him to give the men work he knew they would excel at. Luc might not have had the same level of intelligence as some of his men, but he worked hard and was fiercely loyal.

They both looked towards the gate when they heard people approaching at a run. The Captain knew it had to be serious or the men would not have charged into the garrison yard in such a manner.

Pierre and Marc skidded to a halt in front of him. They were both panting, they had obviously run hard, they needed a few seconds to catch their breath before they could speak. Luc had moved to Pierre's side and was trying to look at the bruising and small cut to his friend's face. Treville wondered if his soldiers had been attacked.

'It's nothing Luc,' said Pierre, 'I'll see to it in a minute.'

Momentarily satisfied, Luc stood back as the two men began their explanation.

Marc spoke first, 'we were in the White Hound, we overheard a man-'

'His first name was Charles, must have been a noble. We didn't get his surname or title, he was annoyed at the King for not giving him a title or something,' interjected Pierre.

Marc nodded before continuing, 'this man...he said he'd killed a Musketeer.'

Treville could not stop a gasp at the news.

'The way he described it was that he had forced two Musketeers to fight each other and one killed the other-' said Marc.

'He said something about them being in some woods, that he left them there when he and his men left,' Pierre said.

'Sorry, Captain,' said Marc, 'the man got away, we tried to arrest him, but his friend attacked Pierre, giving this Charles a chance to run.'

Treville could not stop images flashing through his head.

'Who...who has been killed?' Treville asked, unable to stop his voice cracking with emotion as he spoke.

Treville was surprised when Luc spoke before Pierre or Marc.

'There are only four Musketeers out of the city at the moment, we would know if anyone else was missing or had been attacked by now.'

Treville looked at Luc for a few seconds, the usually quiet man had been quick to work out who was involved.

Pierre was looking at the ground, 'the man described a brawler being responsible for killing his friend. That a younger Musketeer was watching.'

'Porthos was forced to fight either Athos or Aramis and he killed them?' asked Treville.

Both Pierre and Marc nodded slowly. Treville looked away for a few seconds. It was Luc who broke the silence.

'Captain,' he said quietly, 'can men be spared to look for them? The others might be injured, and this noble knows that we are aware of what he has done. We know which road they would have been travelling along.'

Treville nodded, annoyed that he had been shocked into a momentary stupor at the thought of losing one of his men.

'Pierre, see to that injury and find Barbotin. We might need a field medic. Luc, round up the cadets that are training, they can practice their searching skills. Marc, gather any supplies you think we will need and get enough horses sorted. I'll send word to the King; he may know who this noble is.'

The three Musketeers nodded before moving off to follow their orders. Treville paused for a few seconds taking a couple of deep breaths, steadying himself. He needed to remain calm and clear-headed. But knowing that one of his men was dead and that another had been forced to kill them, was something Treville was struggling to comprehend.

MMMM

D'Artagnan did not want to open his eyes. He was fairly sure his thumping headache was gone, at least for the moment, but if he did not open his eyes, or move, he would not have to find out for certain. He was lying on his back on a slightly lumpy mattress made of straw. He could remember arriving at the cottage and Athos helping him to sit on the edge of the bed before helping Porthos get Aramis lying on the other bed. D'Artagnan remembered the tense few moments as they waited for Porthos to be sure Aramis was still breathing.

He was still not sure if it had been a good idea to poison Aramis. Particularly without his permission. But the deed was done, and Aramis was still alive, although they knew he was far from well. The poison would take some time to fully work out of his system and the Musketeer would be left feeling nauseous and weak.

D'Artagnan realised there was a quiet conversation going on near him. Aramis was awake and talking to Porthos.

'You know I would have done it anyway-'

'That's not the point, I didn't have the right to have you drink the poisoned water…'

'Porthos,' Aramis said, 'from what you've said you wouldn't have been able to ask me. Not with...him...standing there. The plan was a good one...even if it comes at a cost to me.'

There was silence for a few seconds before Aramis spoke again.

'I'll get better, Porthos. I feel a bit pathetic and I'm not sure I could face eating anything yet, but I'm awake, I'm of sound mind…'

Porthos mumbled something that d'Artagnan could not make out.

'Stop blaming yourself...it had to be me, and you know I would have willingly done it anyway...your timing of the punch was very good,' mused Aramis.

Porthos did not respond, d'Artagnan could imagine him not looking impressed with Aramis' congratulations.

'Any earlier or later and it wouldn't have worked. He would have known. That's why poor d'Artagnan had to keep going as long as he did. I think he was ready to admit defeat well before he actually collapsed...and he had to do that for my sake.'

There was another pause before Porthos finally spoke, his voice dripped with venom.

'I'd like to grab that bastard and wring his neck…'

'If you could wait until I'm fit again, I'll help you,' said Aramis before he coughed a few times.

D'Artagnan opened his eyes and looked across to see Porthos holding the waterskin so that Aramis could drink. The bruising around Aramis' neck had darkened considerably along with the marks on his face.

Aramis noticed d'Artagnan watching them and gestured to Porthos.

'I heard what you just said,' said d'Artagnan, looking at Aramis, 'and just as you don't begrudge Porthos I don't begrudge you being the cause of my own discomfort out there.'

Aramis managed a smile. Porthos still looked guilty for his part in the affair.

'How are you feeling?' asked Athos, who had appeared in the doorway.

D'Artagnan pushed himself up to sit, unable to hide the winces as his injuries were pulled by the action.

'My headache is gone...which is a start I suppose.'

Athos nodded, 'Porthos, perhaps now that they are both awake you could take a turn to scout around and get us some more water. I think the fresh air might do you good.'

Porthos rolled his eyes, before nodding with a smile, he glanced at Aramis and d'Artagnan before taking the bucket from Athos and leaving the room.

'You don't need to spend time working out how to make me feel better,' said Porthos over his shoulder as he left, 'just recovering will be enough.'

'I'm working on that,' said Aramis quietly.

MMMM

Aramis watched his friend go. Porthos had still looked guilty despite trying to make light of the situation. When he had came around fully he had found Porthos watching him with concern, the hand on his chest resting lightly but firmly. It had taken him a while to work out what had happened. He felt awful.

He could remember being forced to fight, he remembered already being uncomfortable and struggling to breathe after his brief hanging. He remembered Porthos pulling his punches so much that he wondered how Perrault had not noticed. He remembered starting to feel particularly ill, dizzy and nauseous.

But then there had been nothing until he had woken, stretched out on the lumpy creaky bed with Porthos watching him like a hawk.

Porthos had explained what they had done, the look of guilt on his friend's face was quite upsetting to see. Aramis wished he could get his friend to forgive himself for what he had done, but he knew that would be difficult.

Athos was talking quietly to d'Artagnan, trying to assess how he was. The younger man still looked pale, but the head injury did not seem to be bothering him any longer. With two of them injured they were a very vulnerable group. Aramis knew that if it came to it, both of them would try to fight or run but he doubted they would get very far. D'Artagnan would be felled by his injuries and Aramis was sure he was too weak to wield a weapon or run any distance.

Aramis could feel the fatigue making him drowsy, he tried not to blink and give himself away, realising he had failed when Athos moved to sit on the edge of his bed.

'Sleep is the best thing for you at the moment. We are not going anywhere for a few hours-'

Aramis felt a little useless, 'until I'm fit enough-'

'Yes, Aramis, until you are fit enough, and you will not get any better by trying to stay awake.'

With a defeated sigh, Aramis nodded, pushing himself down the bed to lie on his back.

He glanced at d'Artagnan who smiled, 'I'm not looking forward to the long walk myself,' he said.

Aramis knew they were right, despite their ailments both d'Artagnan and he were going to have to walk at some point. The more rest they could get before that eventuality the better.

MMMM

Much as Porthos wanted to forgive himself, he could not. He had poisoned his brother. Aramis was recovering, but the hours before he had come around would haunt Porthos for some time to come. He guessed that was his penance. It had been a good plan. But it was equally a dangerous plan. So much could have gone wrong. He could easily have killed his brother.

As he walked away from the cottage Porthos looked around. Athos had said there was not much in the area. The cottage was quite isolated. He knew there was a hamlet a few miles to the south, but that was the same direction that Perrault and his men had gone. They did not want to risk heading that way, much as Porthos would like to meet with the noble again he did not want to do so with two injured men in tow. Getting Aramis and d'Artagnan back to Paris was the priority.

The wooded area was wild, the cottage had been abandoned long enough for any signs of paths to or from it to have long since disappeared.

Athos had described where he had found a stream as a few hundred yards from their temporary shelter. Porthos headed for it, wishing to fill the bucket and return it to his brothers. His intention was to then walk around the area, not that he expected to find anything untoward.

The stream was fast moving and looked fresh. He crouched and dipped the bucket in, the cold water soon filled the wooden bucket. As he was about to stand a noise to his left drew his attention.

A tangled bramble bush blocked his view, but Porthos was glad as it also meant he was hidden from the person who had made the noise.

'He'd betta' be payin' us extra for this. Traipsing through woods looking for Musketeers ain't fun,' said a man.

Porthos managed to move closer to the bramble, concealing himself as well as he could. He gently placed the bucket down as he continued to listen to the complaining man.

'I thought we was done after one of 'em died-'

'Well we aren't are we,' said a second man who sounded just as annoyed. 'You want your money, don't you? Must admit I was surprised they'd moved the body. Thought they'd just leave 'im there. Do you think they buried him?'

'Probably…' said the other man.

The two men moved off, walking towards the cottage. Porthos watched them for a few seconds before creeping out from his hiding place. He was about to approach the men when he saw movement further into the woods. Ducking down a second time, Porthos crept forward, keeping the overgrowth between himself and the men. He recognised a very agitated looking Perrault walking with purpose next to the pock-marked man.

'I suppose killing four soldiers will be more impactful,' Perrault muttered. 'Why were those Musketeers in that tavern? They shouldn't be able to afford a place that expensive. I should be halfway to the border by now. Instead, I'm back here trying to find the rest of them…'

Perrault and the pock-marked man continued on his way. Porthos realised Perrault and his men did not know they had taken shelter in the cottage. The searching men probably did not know it existed.

Carefully, so as not to give himself away Porthos started to circle around the searchers. He just hoped he could reach the cottage before it was found. They needed to get away as quickly as possible. With no weapons, two injured men and vastly outnumbered, Porthos knew their only option was to run.

MMMM


	6. Chapter 6

**Authors note: Thanks for all the great reviews. In particular, Julie who was not logged in so I could not reply...but...thank you very much, I am flattered that you have spotted the reuse of my original characters over several unconnected stories. :-) **

Chapter Six

Treville had no idea where to start his search. Other than knowing which road his missing men would have been on he was having to guess. They had left the city at speed but slowed to a trot as they entered the wooded area that they suspected the Musketeers had been attacked in.

He had purposely let the sharper-eyed younger men take the lead. Pierre and Marc were particularly good at spotting anything out of place, he watched the two men looking intently at their surrounding and pointing things out to each other. But it was Barbotin who spotted the crashed cart on the side of the road that dropped away rapidly.

Pierre found the way down, a loose, rough track that was barely wide enough for the cart, the wheels had ploughed deep furrows into the soft earth. Treville doubted the cart could have made it to the bottom without smashing apart if it had not been for the old track.

Leaving a couple of the cadets to watch the horses the rest of the men picked their way down the track towards the cart. Treville knew the crash might have had nothing to do with the attack on his Musketeers but it would be remiss of him not to take a look at the area.

Barbotin rushed forward when they saw the woman pinned under the cart. He pulled up short, the woman was obviously dead, as Treville reached his side the field medic pointed at the stab wound to her chest.

'This has been set up, Captain,' said Barbotin.

Treville nodded, 'you're right. We could be on to something here…'

He looked around at the dozen men with him all standing patiently waiting for orders.

'Spread out, look for any sign that they were here and which direction they went.'

The men dutifully did as they were told, arranging themselves a few yards apart as they began a methodical sweep through the wood.

The thick undergrowth made their progress slow, there did not seem to be a path until one of the cadets looked across to Treville.

'Captain,' he said, 'the area here, it's been flattened and there seem to be footprints.'

Treville followed where the cadet was pointing and nodded.

'Well done, son,' he said, with a friendly slap on the back of the young man.

He made his way along the newly created path. Some of the undergrowth was starting to spring back up, no one had been passed in several hours. There was evidence of a fair number of people travelling along it. Bent and broken stems from the brambles and bushes helped to mark out the path. The bare earthy areas were marked with numerous boot prints. Treville estimated that at least twenty men had passed through the wood along the man-made path. The denseness of the wood made it difficult for them to walk in anything but single file after another couple of hundred yards. The road was soon lost from sight.

Almost as suddenly as the wood had thickened up the trees became further apart; the claustrophobic nature of the path gave way to the more hospitable beauty of a wooded area blanketed in wildflowers. A large patch of sunlight ahead of them appeared. The lengthening shadows gave the clearing a somewhat ethereal glow.

They broke from the cover of the trees into the clearing. Each man stood for a moment looking about themselves. There was evidence that the clearing had been created rather than being natural. A pile of cut brambles and bushes were lying at one end of the oval clearing. A couple of the cadets were looking at the remains of a fire, knocking at the ash with their boots to see if any of the embers were still lit.

Slowly the men began to search the area. It was clear that the group that had walked through the woods had come from the clearing and returned there.

'I think this is d'Artagnan's,' said Marc who had scooped up a discarded parrying dagger.

'Captain,' called Barbotin who had wandered into the woods on the other side of the clearing.

Treville walked in the direction his field medic had called from, the sight that he found conjured up very disturbing images in his mind. Four trees that had grown in a rough line each showed evidence of someone having been tied to them. The lengths of rope lay discarded around the trunks on the ground. Three were neatly piled up, as if ready to be used again, the fourth had been dropped haphazardly. A bucket of water with a cup was sat a few feet from the trees. Aramis' medical bag was open on the ground, the contents had been rifled through. Treville knew Aramis would not have allowed the bag to become so disorganised which implied to him that someone other than Aramis had been using its contents. Treville handed the bag to Barbotin who looked through the contents.

'It looks like bandages have been taken, the sewing kit is still there and all the salves he uses…'

'Keep looking for anything that is useful. We need to know which way they went...and,' Treville paused for a few seconds, 'look for any signs of a grave...I can't believe they would have taken the body with them.'

Barbotin gave Treville's arm a squeeze before walking away to continue the search. Treville watched his men go about their business. He sighed. The thought of losing any of his Musketeers was abhorrent but losing one of his best men, a man he considered his friend was particularly upsetting. He hated to imagine how Porthos was feeling, from the little information they had Treville guessed the captured men had been pitted against each other. For what purpose Treville did not know. But the man responsible was going to pay when he found him. Treville was sure he would find the man.

It was clear after several minutes of searching that the dead man had not been buried nearby. Treville wondered if the noble had taken the body with him, but he could not work out why.

They did know, thanks to Pierre, which way the noble's men had gone and which way the Musketeers had gone. A large trampled area and evidence of horses was found a few hundred yards to the South of the clearing. In the opposite direction, three sets of boot prints could be seen leaving.

Barbotin had returned to the spot where the men had been tied to the trees to collect the medical bag when the last piece of information the clearing would give them was found.

The field medic beckoned Treville over. Barbotin pointed at a bush which was growing between two of the trees, its green leaves shining after the rains they had experienced. The blackberries looked enticing, but Treville knew they were poisonous.

'Some of these have been picked,' said Barbotin, pointing at a few dropped berries.

When the Musketeer held up the rough wooden cup that had been with the bucket of water Treville furrowed his brow. The inside of the cup showed evidence of several of the berries having been squashed their dangerous juice allowed to mix with the water, which appeared to have been drunk.

'Pierre and Marc overheard the noble saying that Porthos had killed one of his friends. They didn't hear anything about the man being poisoned,' said Treville.

'This takes a while to act, Captain, whoever ingested it might not die if they were only given a small dose. They would appear dead and they would be quite ill for a while afterwards, but there is no reason they would not survive.'

'Whoever Porthos killed...might not actually be dead,' said Treville as he caught up with what Barbotin was inferring.

'That's why we can't find a body.'

Treville wondered if he could allow a ray of hope to creep into his mind. They still had to find the missing men, but there was now a chance that all four were still alive. Treville prayed that they could keep it that way.

MMMM

D'Artagnan stifled a yawn. His headache had crept back without him really noticing at first the dull ache was drowned out by the pain in his side and his arm from the sword wounds that Athos had inflicted. He knew he should wake Athos and tell him that he was feeling bad. But Athos was sleeping soundly, d'Artagnan knew it would be a light sleep, but it was sleep nonetheless.

He decided to give his brother a little longer to rest before he woke him. They all needed to rest. He wondered if they would be able to get Porthos to rest when he returned from getting the water and scouting the area.

It occurred to d'Artagnan that Porthos had already been gone for some time. Long enough for Athos to have fallen asleep and the much-needed sleep to be calling him as well.

'I could watch for a bit if you want,' said Aramis.

D'Artagnan had not realised his friend had woken again. Aramis looked pale and fatigued.

'You're not much better than me,' replied d'Artagnan quietly, 'in fact I am sure you feel worse.'

Aramis shrugged his shoulders in defeat, 'we've done quite well for collecting assorted injuries between us,' he mused.

D'Artagnan pushed himself up to stand, reaching out to steady himself on the wall when he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He waved Aramis away when his brother was about to scramble off the bed to help him.

'I'm not about to pass out, it's alright,' he said with a smile.

'See you don't, we don't need any more injuries to add to what we already have-,' replied Aramis before he was caught out by another brief coughing bout.

D'Artagnan handed Aramis the waterskin. He waited for his brother to calm himself before crossing to Athos who had been roused by the coughing. Athos looked at Aramis for a few seconds before refocusing on d'Artagnan.

'This might seem foolish,' said d'Artagnan, 'but Porthos is taking quite a long time scouting the area.'

Athos pushed himself up to sit before responding.

'He's not back yet?'

D'Artagnan shook his head.

'Surely nothing else can go wrong?' asked Aramis between stifled coughs, his hand rubbing his collarbone, just below the bruising to his neck.

D'Artagnan hoped he was overreacting, but it was unlike their brother to be anything but efficient when they were on a mission. Athos had opened the flimsy door and was looking around. D'Artagnan had to move back quickly when Athos pushed the door shut again in haste.

'Perrault's men,' he hissed, 'the big man that hit you,' he continued with a glance at Aramis, 'and another one.'

Aramis had managed to get to his feet and was pushing the shutter open for the rear window of the small cottage, the gap would be big enough for them to climb thought, he took a quick look out before stepping back. D'Artagnan knew Athos would want to be the first one out so that he could help both Aramis and him out.

Using the bed as a step Athos pushed himself up to perch on the edge of the window frame. As he went to swing his legs out a gunshot caused him to duck back inside crashing to the floor in a heap before either Aramis or d'Artagnan could react.

'Damn it,' said Aramis as he helped Athos to sit up.

'Do you think this is why Porthos isn't back?' asked d'Artagnan.

MMMM

Porthos had been too slow, his circuitous route had perhaps been a little too cautious. He watched as the pock-marked man and a couple of the other men spread themselves around the cottage. He had been about to try to take one of the men out that had wandered close to his hiding place when a noise at the back of the cottage drew all the men's attention. The shutters were pushed open for the small window. Porthos watched as Aramis who still did not look well peered out before ducking back. Athos had then tried to escape through the window but the man Porthos had been about to attack fired his gun in the direction of the cottage. His aim was well off, but the threat had been enough to see Athos throw himself back into the relative safety of the cottage. Porthos thought it was a shame his brothers did not know there were only three men outside the cottage to start with.

As he had started to creep up on the man who had shot at Athos, Porthos was forced to hide under a bush, pushing himself as far into the thick foliage as he could. Perrault and several other men had appeared. Porthos could not work out why the noble had returned, but he was left with a glimmer of hope when he heard Perrault talking to his men.

'Did you hit him? Did you kill him?' Perrault asked the man who had taken the poor shot at Athos.

'I was close, monsieur,' lied the man, 'I may have grazed him.'

Perrault seemed pleased, 'good. I want them scared. I want them to know they are surrounded. I should have just killed the four of them straight away. I could have had the bodies dumped outside the Palace.'

'Are we going to attack?' asked the pock-marked man whose accent was distinctly southern.

'Yes, but I need to be sure they are all there. We will toy with them for a few minutes. They are tired and one of them is injured.'

Porthos guessed that Perrault was still unaware that Aramis had not been killed. He wanted to see Perrault's face when he found out Aramis was still alive. Porthos was determined that they would all survive to see that happen.

'Just burn it down, then we're done with them,' said the other man.

Perrault glared at him, 'I have to be sure all three of them are in there. It's bad enough that the Musketeers at the tavern know one of their comrades is dead, they will be rallying troops. I need to get rid of these three. The fewer witnesses the better. If I'd thought at the time, I would have dealt with the two that overheard me there and then…'

Perrault was not a happy man. Whilst Porthos was pleased Perrault was unhappy, he was not pleased with what Perrault planned to do. With the stealth of a cat, Porthos crawled away. The men were all looking intently at the cottage, none of them were scanning the area, their whole focus was on the Musketeers now trapped in the cottage. Perrault and his men thought there was only one injured man in the cottage, not two. But Perrault and his men did not know that one fully fit Musketeer was ready to start thinning out the attackers.

As he secreted himself in a natural dip in the earthy ground Porthos went back to observing the men, trying to work out which ones he could neutralise. The more he could take out without Perrault being aware of it the better. Porthos was unarmed but that was not going to stop him.

'You're surrounded,' said Perrault with a commanding tone. 'I just want to talk…'

Porthos smirked when there was nothing but silence by way of response from his brothers trapped in the cottage.

'I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to be sure you understand the message I want you to take back to the King.'

Again, there was nothing but stony silence from the trapped men.

MMMM

'This needs stitches,' said Aramis as he gently turned Athos arm to get a better look at the injury.

D'Artagnan had ripped a few strips of fabric from his own shirt to use as a bandage, the medical bag forgotten in their haste to get to safety. Aramis wound the improvised bandage around Athos' arm. He concentrated on keeping his hands from shaking but knew both Athos and d'Artagnan could tell he was struggling.

When Athos had fallen to the floor, initially they had thought he had got off lightly. The gunshot had hit the wall of the cottage a couple of feet to his right, but the threat had been enough for Athos to dive back into the safety of the interior of the building. Once they had pushed the stunned Musketeer up to sit Aramis had spotted the nasty gash across his brother's forearm. He had grabbed Athos, right hand and pressed it over the wound before he and d'Artagnan had started work on cleaning and bandaging the cut.

'Our day gets better,' remarked Athos as he watched Aramis work. 'I do not think, even if we had needle and thread, that you would be stitching me up at the moment Aramis.'

Aramis looked up at his friend, no longer able to hide the shake to his hands as the fatigue set in. The surge of energy he had enjoyed when they had first been attacked had been all too brief.

'And I hate to admit it,' said d'Artagnan quietly, 'but I'm really not up to much either.'

They each sat back, keeping well out of sight of the still open shutters of the small window.

'We have no weapons, there is nothing here with which to fight back,' said Athos as they listened to Perrault making his empty promises outside.

'We have Porthos,' said Aramis, who had leaned against the bed, his eyes closed in deference to the headache he was still suffering.

Aramis was expecting Athos to play devil's advocate and point out that they did not know if Porthos had been caught by Perrault, but his friend remained silent.

Their situation was difficult. They were trapped, with no hope of escape. Only outside assistance could help them.

MMMM

Treville and Pierre were walking slightly ahead of the other men, scanning the ground carefully, following the telltale signs of the Musketeers fleeing the place they had been held captive. The men had not left much of a trail, which is what Treville would expect, but their ability to move through the undergrowth almost undetected was not helping them at that moment.

If the noble that had attacked his men had returned to the area, they would almost certainly be searching in the same area. It did not take much thought to guess the men who had been attacked would travel in the opposite direction to the attackers.

What they did not know was what state the missing men were in and how many men the noble would have with him. The conversation that had been overheard by Pierre and Marc implied that the noble had several men in his pay, enough to subdue four Musketeers at least. But how many had he brought on the search? If he was even searching. There was a possibility that the noble had simply left the area a little earlier than he had planned.

Treville hoped he was only going to find his Musketeers. He hoped he was going to find all four in fine fettle. But something told Treville that was not going to be the case.

All the Musketeers and cadets stopped in their tracks when they heard a gunshot ahead of them and slightly to the left. Treville glanced around, pleased to see weapons being checked and an air of readiness settling over the men.

'Spread out, assess the situation before you attack. Only kill if you have to, but your lives and the lives of our friends take priority,' said Treville with a sweeping gaze over all of the waiting men.

He watched as each man acknowledged the order before nodding and indicating for them to move.

Treville wondered what they were going to find.

MMMM


	7. Chapter 7

**Authors note: There's some ridiculous gunpowder nonsense in this chapter, I am playing the poetic license again. **

Chapter Seven

Porthos was dismayed at the number of men Perrault still had with him. The men had circled the cottage. Some were stood in pairs, far too close together for Porthos to eliminate one without the other being aware. But a few had spread further apart, the thick wood forcing them apart and with broken sightlines.

He moved around behind his first target. A wiry young man, who despite his youth had picked up a nasty scar across the back of his neck. The muscular man was poised for action, but his whole attention was on the cottage and not his surroundings. The men were convinced that the Musketeers were all in the cottage. Porthos could understand their wish to get on with burning the building and killing the occupants. Only Perrault was wary enough to want to ensure he was getting rid of all the witnesses.

Porthos managed to get within a couple of yards of the unsuspecting man. He sized the man up and worked out his best attack. The ground around the man was clear, there would be no giveaway rustle of leaves or snapping twigs. After a check in the direction of the next nearest men, Porthos made his move.

Silently he closed the gap between him and the young man. He did not like to kill the man but knew that it would be a choice between his life and those of his brothers and the stranger he was about to attack. He could not risk simply rendering the man unconscious, he did not know how long it would take him to deal with the other men.

With deft speed Porthos wrapped his arm around the man's neck and dragged him back, being sure to muffle any sound the man might have made before it could escape his lips. The man struggled, but Porthos held fast, he dragged the man far enough away from the cottage and the other men to trip him to the ground landing heavily on the man's back as he continued to squeeze the life out of him. The slow process was not ideal, but he had been unarmed, strangling the man was his only option. It was not pleasant but soldiering rarely was.

As the man stilled, Porthos remained where he was for another few minutes. Porthos took the time to glance at the man's weapons, a loaded gun with spare ammunition and a decent dagger were tucked into his belt. The man did not have a sword.

Porthos had noticed that Perrault's men had been wearing a variety of weapons, a couple had been carrying muskets.

He looked around; his first victim had not been missed. With a grim smile, he let go of the dead man. After relieving the man of his weapons Porthos homed in on his next target. An older man who had the poise of a seasoned soldier. But he was in the best position to be attacked.

Porthos moved around behind the man who wore no doublet but did have a tatty jerkin of dark brown leather.

The second kill was a far simpler, if messy, affair. Adopting the same approach as before but this time armed with the dagger Porthos grabbed the man and in one swift motion plunged the dagger deep into the man's throat preventing him from making a sound other than a quiet gurgle as his life dripped away along with the blood that now stained the dark brown jerkin. Porthos dragged the man away, secreting him in the undergrowth.

With two guns and ample ammunition, Porthos felt a little better prepared to take on the rest of the noble's men.

Picking a route through the woods that did not make any noise was not an easy task for Porthos. He had to continually scan his surroundings for any of Perrault's men and check where he was putting his feet to ensure he did not draw attention to himself. As he walked, he came up with a plan. He needed the men to think they were being attacked by more than one man, and Porthos knew how he would achieve that goal.

He found a tree with a hole where a branch had once been, long since lost to the elements, the hollow caused by the missing limb was shallow enough for Porthos' purpose. He carefully tipped up some of his precious gunpowder into the hole, making sure to trail the powder over the flinty rocks he dropped in the hollow.

It was a gamble, thought Porthos, he would have preferred to have Aramis make the shot, but he was, he hoped, good enough to make it.

Creeping away, he pulled out the stolen guns from his belt one at a time, he checked that they were both clean and primed.

Perrault and the pock-marked man were standing a little closer to the cottage than the other men. The noble was trying to talk to the besieged men. Porthos smirked when his brothers continued to remain silent. A ploy that he guessed was intended to delay Perrault, he would have no idea what the men in the cottage had planned. He would not know what state of fitness the men were in.

Finding himself a suitable spot to fire from was Porthos' next issue. He did not want to give away his position as soon as he fired so had to make sure any smoke from his gun would not be seen. The perfect spot presented itself to him, he smiled as he moved to stand by the tree with a branch at the perfect angle and height to act as a rest for him.

Perrault was still trying to persuade his brothers to give themselves up, that he only wanted to talk to them. Porthos sighed and shook his head, he wondered how long Perrault would wait until he tried to set fire to the cottage.

Porthos was not inclined to find out as he settled himself squarely behind the tree branch, getting himself comfortable for the shot that could make or break his distraction of the men. He wanted to cause confusion, perhaps scare some of the men off. He was not sure how many men there were, he just hoped he could deal with them and that Athos could escape the cottage in the chaos and help him.

He lined up the shot, he paused, taking two slow calming breaths. He waited for Perrault to call out to the cottage again, for all the men to be focused on the small building.

Porthos fired his gun.

MMMM

Athos could not help a smile when they heard the gun being fired and the accompanying noise of a small explosion. He looked at Aramis who was also smiling but had not opened his eyes.

'I told you,' Aramis said quietly. 'Best distraction maker I know.'

They listened to several of Perrault's men shouting. They could not make out everything that was being said, but the words 'soldiers' and 'not waiting around here' were quite clear. Whatever Porthos had done he had succeeded in scaring the hired men into thinking there was more than one man attacking them.

Athos decided to risk a look out of the window, he twisted around and carefully peered over the edge of the window frame. He spotted four men running off, back towards the clearing. Another couple were backing off in another direction, carefully looking around themselves as if they were going to be jumped on at any seconds before turning tail and making off.

The pock-marked man was shielding Perrault from any potential attack, but it was clear they did not know where that attack might come from.

'Aramis?'

Athos turned back to see d'Artagnan trying to straighten their friend up. Aramis had slumped to the side awkwardly.

'He's passed out again,' said d'Artagnan as he twisted the unconscious man to lie on his side, pulling his doublet off the bed and folding it up to use as a pillow for him.

'I am not surprised. Although he might have timed it better,' replied Athos with a wry smile.

D'Artagnan moved back to lean against the wall, 'I'm not feeling that good myself,' he said.

Athos nodded; he had suspected that both his friends were hiding how much their injuries were affecting them. The need to look after himself when he had cut his arm had kept them both occupied for a few minutes, but they were all exhausted which, when added to their existing issues, had led to both men suffering.

If anything happened to Porthos, Athos knew he would effectively be on his own.

The occasional gunshots and shouts continued outside for several minutes. Athos watched as d'Artagnan winced each time a loud noise reverberated around the small cottage. Athos wished there was something, anything, he could do to alleviate his friend's symptoms but knew there was nothing.

He moved back to the window, watching Perrault talking to the few remaining men. He was directing them to circle around the area. Some appeared to be keeping watch on the cottage whilst others were dispatched to fight back against the unseen foe. Athos could see four men and the pock-marked man heading in the most likely direction that Porthos was in. Athos hoped his brother was ready for the five men.

MMMM

Treville gave up any pretence of a quiet approach. He glanced across to his men and gestured for them to follow him as he took off at a run in the direction of the gunfire and shouting.

They had been walking carefully for several minutes, but the first gunshot had made them pick up the pace. When they heard the explosion, they had all stopped again, the men looked towards Treville. It had only taken the Musketeer Captain a few seconds to reassess their situation. The likelihood that it was his men being attacked was great, and Treville could not allow that.

Musketeers and cadets alike surged forward, there were not many of them, but Treville trusted each of them, from the newest cadet to the most seasoned commissioned man. He knew they would fight for their brother's safety; he knew they would not let him down.

MMMM

Porthos had hoped more men would have run away when he began his distraction. He had also hoped more men would stay with the cottage rather than look for him. He watched with increasing concern as five men, including the brutish pock-marked man headed in his general direction. Porthos weighed up his options. He knew he could move away and try to take out a few more of them stealthily. That was the preferred option. Unfortunately, the option was not open to him as the five men spread out enough to see any attempt Porthos made to get away from the area.

He looked at his two guns, both reloaded and primed. He raised the first one sighting the man in the middle of the five, the stout looking middle-aged man probably did not even have time to realise he had been shot in the head before he crumpled to the ground.

The move made three of the other four men duck down, trying to find cover. The pock-marked man stood his ground raising his own weapon quickly and aiming in the direction that he had seen the smoke from Porthos' gun. The man fired, but the shot was wasted. Porthos was surprised the man had even taken it. Any soldier would know that after making the kind of shot Porthos had done it was not wise to stay in the same place.

No. Porthos had moved a few meters to the left and levelled his second gun at the spot he had seen one of the men duck down. He sighted the man as he peered out from behind the bramble where he was hidden. The brief appearance was enough for Porthos. He fired the second gun, the ball skimming across the top of the bramble and finishing its journey in the man's neck. A gurgled cry and movement from the bush told Porthos his shot had been successful.

But with both guns spent and no time to reload Porthos was faced with three angry men who were out for blood.

The pock-marked man tossed his gun aside and wrenched his sword lose, advancing on Porthos who reciprocated the move with his own acquired sword. The other two men made similar moves.

Porthos was not about to abandon his brothers, he knew he had to fight the men and he was ready for them.

MMMM

Treville was a little surprised to find four men barrelling through the wood towards them. The men were a little more surprised to find a dozen soldiers heading in their directions. The running men tried to change direction to avoid the soldiers but only managed to either knock into each other or get themselves entangled in one of the prickly bushes in the area.

Without missing a beat, Treville pointed at Luc and a couple of the cadets. The men all nodded and skidded to a halt in front of the no longer running men. Luc drew his gun, the two cadets copied him. Treville knew they would have at least four prisoners to take back to Paris with them. None of the men had looked as though they were of noble stock. The perpetrator of the attack on his men was still at large. Treville very much wanted to meet the man, he hoped he would get his opportunity.

A small, obviously abandoned, cottage came into view. The Musketeers and cadets spread out as they each saw more men in the area. Treville saw Pierre, Marc and Barbotin move quickly towards a group of three men who were about to be joined by another three. The men were squaring up to Porthos who did not seem to be aware that help was at hand. Treville got the distinct impression his Musketeer was about to take on the six men single-handedly.

MMMM

The three men facing Porthos paused for a moment, each man sizing up the other. Porthos already knew what the pock-marked man was capable of, Aramis would be bruised for some time after being hit by the man. The other two were of a smaller build but looked as though they knew how to handle a sword. The older of the two was missing a couple of teeth, leaving him with a gaping grin, his sunken cheeks gave him a skeletal look. The other man still had the cocky look of a swaggering youth. Porthos well remembered d'Artagnan carrying the same look for the first few months he knew him.

Porthos was sure the pock-marked man would be the one he would have the hardest time beating, but three men was not insurmountable odds. He had fought more alone before and won, although the setting had been different, there was not much else he could use as improvised weapons in his immediate vicinity.

But Porthos felt confident.

For a few seconds.

When three more men moved forward, swords already in their hands, advancing with menacing expressions, Porthos decided to rethink his tactics. Six men. Six was a difficult number on his own. The area he had found himself in was quite densely covered in shrubs and a few trees acted as useful barriers. He was not sure who would benefit more from all the tripping hazards and hiding places. Porthos began to realise it probably was not him.

He knew he could not win the fight he was about to have, but he was going to make it as difficult as possible for the men, and if he could, he would take a couple with him.

The pock-marked man sneered at him. Porthos sneered back.

'You can't win, not against six of us,' said the man in a mocking tone.

Porthos did not reply, he continued to take in as much information about his assailants as he could. One of the newcomers was shaking slightly, one was favouring his left leg. The cocky youth did not seem completely focused. Porthos wondered if the men had been drinking, perhaps celebrating a finished job when they were pressed back into service.

As the pock-marked man took a step forward Porthos glanced behind the six men. He could not stop a wide grin forming. He steadied himself firmly, ready for the fight. The pock-marked man paused, a look of confusion crossing his ugly face. Porthos raised an eyebrow and gestured to an area behind the men with his sword.

'Do you think me stupid?' asked the man.

'No,' replied Porthos, 'I know you are.'

Two of the younger combatants could not resist looking around whilst the older, supposedly wiser, men remained focused on their quarry.

A couple of poorly chosen expletives from the men who had looked around, followed by a brief escape attempt, stopped by a gunshot caused the more mature soldiers to finally glance around.

Pierre flipped his gun in his gloved hand, ready to use the weapon as a club, its use as a gun gone with the man who had tried to run.

'Thought you might like a hand,' said Marc with a nodded greeting towards Porthos.

'I could've taken 'em,' said Porthos with an air of superiority, followed by a chuckle.

The pock-marked man turned back to Porthos. Without any preamble, he surged forward with the skeletal looking man. Porthos had no time to see which of the other men ended up fighting with which Musketeer. He was confident Pierre, Marc and Barbotin would deal with the three men with ease.

The skeletal man used efficient strokes of his sword, he was light on his feet and knew what he was doing. Porthos was forced to keep moving as the man tried to manoeuvre him into tree roots or low branches. The pock-marked man darted in and out whenever the skeletal man took a step back. Porthos could not get away from either man, but he knew that he was not alone, where he had been about to fight to his death, now he merely had to fight until one of the other Musketeers could lend him a hand. He hoped he could conclude his fight with the two men before he was offered help. But he would not begrudge it if it came.

Porthos had no idea where his brother Musketeers had appeared from. He was aware of other fights breaking out around the area, he guessed Pierre, Marc and Barbotin were not alone. How had they known where they were? How had they known that help was needed?

Questions Porthos would have to wait to ask.

With a brutal strike the pock-marked man forced Porthos against a large tree's trunk, the man wasted no time stepping in and slicing Porthos across the shoulder with his dagger, the blade missing his neck by precious few inches. He could feel blood dripping from the wound almost immediately, the angle of the cut inhibited his right arm. Fortunately, Porthos was as good with his left arm as his right.

The pock-marked man took the momentary pause as Porthos pushed himself back up from leaning against the tree and passed his sword to his left hand, to run away. Porthos was a little surprised at the move but did not have time to dwell on it as the skeletal man renewed his attack.

MMMM


	8. Chapter 8

**Authors note: Thank you all for your comments. **

Chapter Eight

Athos and d'Artagnan watched the fighting from the doorway of the cottage. Athos knew there was no need for him to join the fight. Treville and the Musketeers and cadets were easily overpowering Perrault's men.

D'Artagnan was leaning heavily on the door frame but had perked up enough to be following the action. Athos had steadied the injured man a couple of times and was alert to his friend passing out. Athos was surprised d'Artagnan was still standing, but the young man seemed determined to be with his brothers in spirit if not in body.

They watched as Porthos and three Musketeers, they could not make out who it was, fought a group of men several yards from the cottage. The thick wood blocking their view frequently. They had seen Porthos getting injured by the pock-marked man then lost track of what was happening for a few seconds as a couple of cadets charged past following three of Perrault's men as they made a break for it. Treville had shouted at the cadets to let the men go. Athos knew Treville was right to leave the escaping men alone, they would not return. Not when their paymaster had so easily been defeated by the Captain.

When Athos had reached the door and tentatively pulled it open, he had been greeted with the sight of Perrault trying to engage Treville in a sword fight. Perrault had all the skill of a drunk red guardsman on a bad day. Treville disarmed the man and pushed him to the ground with one move. When Perrault had looked as though he might complain and try to pull rank Treville had stepped close enough to rest the tip of his sword on the noble's throat. The man had stilled, staring wide-eyed at the Captain, his mouth open.

One of the cadets who was not far off getting his commission had stepped forward after dealing with the man he had been fighting and offered to take over watching Perrault. Treville had nodded before stepping back. Perrault had looked almost relieved to be put in the care of someone other than the angry Musketeer Captain.

Athos glanced back to Porthos in time to see him run the skinny man he had been fighting with through. Porthos looked as though the exhaustion he must have been feeling was finally catching him up. He leaned back against the nearest tree for a few seconds breathing hard. Barbotin walked up to him, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket as he went. Porthos accepted the square of cloth, wadding it up and pressing it against the sword wound to his shoulder. Athos could see the white fabric being stained red far too quickly. But Porthos was not going to need to fight any further and could allow himself to be looked after.

As they all could.

Athos would gladly admit that he was ready for a chance to sit down for a few minutes without the worry of being burned out of the cottage or killed in some other way as he rested.

D'Artagnan had given up any pretence that he was alright. As the fighting had stopped and the Musketeers had either killed or secured the hired men as prisoners, d'Artagnan had moved to sit on the ground just outside the door of the cottage, his legs stretched out in front of him.

Athos was about to join his brother when a movement out of the corner of his eye caused him to look towards Treville who was walking towards them. The pock-marked man was running towards the Captain, a dagger in his hands, a murderous expression on his face.

Treville had seen Athos' shocked look and turned in time to find the man charging at him. There was nothing Treville could do. He had no time to draw a weapon.

Time seemed to stop for Athos. He could not believe that after all they had been through, he was about to watch his Captain, his saviour, stabbed by one of the men who had been causing him and his brothers pain.

The pock-marked man raised his arm, the knife, already covered with blood, clutched firmly in his hand.

Athos was snapped from his shocked, stunned stare, by a gunshot ringing out across the wood. The pock-marked man's momentum kept him going forward for several strides even though he could not have held a conscious thought in his very dead head. The ball of the gun had entered his head through his left eye leaving him with a very vacant expression indeed.

Treville managed to step aside as the body hit the ground sliding a few inches before it came to a stop, blood already dripping from the fatal wound.

Athos looked across in the direction the gun had been fired. He saw Porthos and Barbotin. Porthos was still holding the gun. Athos realised Porthos had seen what was about to happen as Barbotin was talking to him. Porthos had pulled Barbotin's gun from his weapon belt and shot the pock-marked man, arresting his deadly attack.

'Thank you,' said Treville, who was unable to hide the relieved tone in his voice.

MMMM

Athos watched as organised chaos descended on the scene. Barbotin guided Porthos over to the cottage. He looked at Athos who realised what the unasked question was.

'Aramis was poisoned, he is sleeping it off,' said Athos, noting the guilty look that had crept back onto Porthos' face. 'D'Artagnan has a couple of sword wounds, not too serious, but they could do with looking at, he was also knocked out a few hours ago. He's still suffering from a headache. I have a gash across my arm which needs stitches.'

Porthos looked at Athos' arm for a few seconds with confusion.

'We tried to escape out of the back of the cottage, we were shot at, I fell awkwardly, catching my arm on the window frame.'

Porthos nodded, 'I saw you making a hasty retreat, didn't know you'd been injured.'

'Quite a lot has happened in the last few minutes,' said Athos as Porthos was persuaded to sit on the ground next to him. 'Let them see to Aramis, he's in safe hands.'

Athos lay his hand over Porthos' arm when his brother tried to look into the cottage as Barbotin and one of the cadets went to check on Aramis.

'You can thank Pierre and Marc that we found you,' said Treville as he walked up to them. 'They overheard that idiot saying he'd killed a musketeer as revenge.'

Athos shook his head in disgust as he watched Perrault having his hands tied behind his back by a couple of cadets who were taking great joy in their responsibility of watching the now disgraced noble.

'I look forward to hearing exactly what happened,' said Treville, 'after you've had a chance to have your injuries dealt with and have eaten,' Treville turned to the Musketeers who had assembled nearby. 'We're staying the night here. I want a fire started and food cooked for us all. Clemont,' Treville paused, waiting for Barbotin to appear at the doorway of the cottage, 'what do you need?'

'Fresh water, I've got enough supplies otherwise,' said Barbotin.

Porthos was leaning forward again, trying to see Aramis.

'He's fine, Porthos,' said Barbotin, 'I'll get him settled on one of the beds.'

Barbotin beckoned another of the cadets over to help him before disappearing back into the cottage.

Athos sat back and watched as his brother Musketeers followed their Captains orders. He knew they were safe. Although he was not particularly looking forward to explaining all that had gone on to Treville.

MMMM

Aramis had managed to sit himself up. When he had come around, he had been a little shocked to find Barbotin, a capable field medic in his own right, sitting on the edge of the bed dabbing a salve on the bruising around his neck. Barbotin had spent a few minutes filling him in on what he had missed. Aramis had felt a little embarrassed to have missed the fight despite the medic pointing out that he was in no state to fight anyway even going as far as to tell him that Athos had merely watched the skirmish.

Now Aramis was watching Porthos who was busy trying not to swear at Luc who was holding him still as Barbotin stitched a nasty looking injury to his shoulder. One of the cadets was practically lying over Porthos' legs to help keep the complaining man from moving too much. Aramis was glad he was not the one inflicting the stitches at that moment.

'How are you feeling now?' asked Treville who had found an old wooden crate to use as a seat and placed it next to his bed.

'A lot better than I was,' replied Aramis with honesty.

He knew he was still weak from the poison and the assortment of scrapes and bruises he had received which, when added to the brief strangulation, had left him stiff and uncomfortable.

'When we get back to Paris, I would like Lemay to have a look at you. We don't know if there will be any long-term effects from ingesting those berries.'

Aramis nodded, although he was sure the poison would just work its way out of his system, he knew it was wise to be sure.

'Don't tell Porthos you're concerned,' said Aramis quietly, 'he's feeling bad enough as it is.'

Treville smiled and nodded, 'Athos told me what happened. I think we will have to put up with his guilt for a little while.'

Aramis knew his Captain was correct. Porthos had apologised enough already but was probably not ready to accept that he had done what they needed to.

'Where are d'Artagnan and Athos?'

Treville smiled, 'not gone far. After we sorted out the injury to Athos' arm, he and d'Artagnan found a quiet spot around the side of the cottage, the last I saw they were both eating. D'Artagnan still has a headache but I'm sure he will be better once he's slept.

Aramis nodded; he went back to watching Porthos who had passed out. Barbotin glanced across at them.

'I fully understand why you knock him out. I've never had to deal with someone that combative before.'

Aramis smiled, 'he is not the best patient. Is that going to hinder him?'

Barbotin looked at the freshly stitched wound as the cadet that had been helping them pushed the unconscious man on to his side so that they could dress it.

'He won't be sword fighting for a bit, but it was a clean, straight, cut. He's lucky it wasn't his neck though…'

Barbotin went back to his work. Aramis noticed Treville looking at him, it was clear the Captain wanted to ask him something.

'Athos said that you were hanged for a few seconds-'

'Felt like minutes at the time, Captain. I thought I was going to die. I really did…'

'Don't dwell on it, will you? Talk to us if you struggle to sleep or anything, I don't want my men hiding issues. I need you all fit.'

Aramis managed a smile, 'I will. Are you going to give the same, well similar, advice to the others? Athos was forced to hurt d'Artagnan. Porthos was forced to hurt me and he poisoned me. And d'Artagnan felt as though he had let us down by struggling with his head injury.'

Treville nodded, 'I will. You've managed to have quite an adventure. I'm not sure I should let you four out again.'

'What about Perrault? What have you done with him?'

Treville chuckled, 'I have been quite evil, and will no doubt suffer in purgatory for this...do you think you could manage a short walk?'

Aramis nodded, intrigued by the Captain's words. Slower than he would have liked, Aramis managed to swing his legs to the floor. He allowed Treville to help him up but managed to walk unaided. Treville led him out of the house and around to the side.

Aramis was pleased to see Athos and d'Artagnan sat with their backs to the stone wall eating a simple meal of bread and meat. They smiled and nodded a greeting to him. D'Artagnan pointed ahead of them, Aramis looked where he was indicating. The Captain had surpassed himself with his punishment of the disgraced noble.

'The way Athos described what he did,' said Treville, 'I'm not convinced he would be convicted of more than conspiring and even that will be difficult. So far he has been firmly blaming the man that tried to kill me. The King will probably just banish him or throw him in prison...which I don't think is right...we are all going to deny that this,' Treville indicated Perrault, 'happened to him when we get back to Paris, but we will know that he has well and truly paid for what he did to all of you.'

Aramis looked at Perrault, at the fear on his face. He was not sure if he fully approved of the punishment Treville had dealt out, but he could certainly see that it was giving Perrault a taste of his own medicine.

The now scared noble was stood on a crate, his arms bound behind him, a gag muffling his attempts to talk. A rope was around his neck in a similar fashion to the one Aramis had worn before Athos and d'Artagnan were forced to fight. The big difference was that there was enough slack in the rope that if Perrault were to fall from the crate, he would not end up suspended, he would simply fall to the floor. The rope had not been tied to anything, just flung over a tree branch. If Perrault were to look around, he would see the end of the rope trailing across the ground a couple of feet to his left. But Perrault was staring straight ahead, he was visibly shaking, Aramis could tell he thought he was going to be hanged.

'How long are you going to leave him there?' asked Aramis, who despite his loathing for the man did feel a little sympathetic towards him.

'How long were you left like that?'

Aramis thought for a moment, 'I'm not sure, it probably felt longer than it was. Ten minutes perhaps? Maybe a little longer.'

Treville nodded, 'he's already been there about twenty minutes.'

'Perhaps you should let him down now?'

Treville looked at Aramis for a few seconds, before he nodded his understanding. Aramis did not want to see another person suffer as he had, even if it was the person who had caused his suffering. Although Aramis knew Treville would not have the man hanged without express orders to do so he did not like to see Perrault enduring the trauma of not knowing what was going to happen to him. His future was uncertain enough as it was without torturing him. Treville had made his point, Perrault would never forget what he had put other people through.

MMMM

Perrault was allowed down and sent on his way early the following morning, accompanied by three Musketeers and two cadets. Treville had not wanted to take the risk that any of the noble's men were still in the area and prepared to fight for his release.

Athos watched the men go as he saddled his own horse, pleased the beast had been found with his stablemates tied up a little distance from the clearing that had caused the Musketeers so many issues.

Aramis and d'Artagnan had been left to sleep, stretched out on the two old beds in the cottage. The rest of the men were breaking camp ready to leave as soon as the injured men were ready. Porthos had humbly apologised to Luc, Barbotin and the cadet that had treated him. Luc had patted his good arm a couple of times to show there were no hard feelings between them. Barbotin had told Porthos his thanks should really come in the form of not pulling the stitches and resting until he was properly fit to use his arm again. Athos had chuckled when Porthos agreed to the terms and remarked that Aramis had trained the medic well.

Marc and Pierre, with the rest of the cadets, had dealt with the bodies of Perrault's men. The captured men were delivered to the local authorities by the rest of the Musketeers.

Getting the four tired and injured Musketeers on to their horses proved to be an interesting few minutes. Aramis was the only one of them that managed to mount up on his own although he looked distinctly green when he managed to push himself up to sit straight. Treville aided each of the rest of them in an attempt to keep their assortment of wounds from being agitated.

As they allowed the horses to pick their own way through the wood towards the road the four Musketeers looked at each other for a few moments. Athos could still see the guilt on Porthos' face and Aramis was on the verge of getting annoyed at his friend.

'How many times will I need to forgive you? Not that there is anything to forgive you for. I would have been prepared to take the risk anyway and you know that.'

Porthos did not respond for a few seconds. He sighed and managed to twist to look at Aramis.

'Well next time try not to pass out when we're busy discussing how we're going to get ourselves out of trouble. Then I won't be put in that situation again.'

D'Artagnan, who had been watching with intrigue had to look away quickly, a smirk obvious on his face as he glanced at Athos who rolled his eyes.

'You're turning it into being my fault now?' asked Aramis.

'Yes,' replied Porthos decisively.

Aramis looked ahead of them before speaking again, 'I think I preferred it when you were blaming yourself for almost killing me,' he said with mock indignation.

Porthos chuckled.

Athos was pleased Porthos had finally accepted that he was not at fault. They had all been forced to do things they did not want to. All been used for the gain of another. And in the end, nothing had been gained, which although it had come at a cost to each of them, Athos was particularly pleased about.

The End.

**Authors note: I hope you enjoyed it.**


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